


Genesis

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Pre-White House (West Wing)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-01
Updated: 2009-11-01
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Donna's journey to the White House.





	1. Part I:  Beacon Way

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: This is a pre-administration story that is told in Donna's POV. I've never read a J/D story that began _before_ Donna gets to Manchester, so I hope you find this one unique. An abundance of thanks to my beta, J.P. She's the one who makes my stories truly come to life.  


* * *

Early February 1998

The front door is half-open and a chunk of snow falls from the gutter and crashes onto the pavement, just missing the welcome mat. Not to be outdone by the neighbors, my mother insisted upon this particular mat, which reads "The Moss Family" in the kind of black cursive you'd find on wedding invitations. The design of the mat betrays our living arrangements – a three-bedroom condo in Madison, Wisconsin.

My mom keeps buying what she calls "odds and ends" for their future house. (They've claimed to be looking into buy a house in East Madison for at least 10 years.) The doormat and a few vases might be considered "odds and ends," but the dining room set and the antique hutch in the living room are certainly not. 

Nothing matches in the condo. We have a taupe sofa next to a plum chair. The walls are painted light green, and the fixtures are gold. The kitchen is miniscule and still has flowered wallpaper from 1974. My dad built new cabinets, which would look great in a 300 square foot kitchen with granite countertops, but they're overwhelming in the 15 square feet kitchen we have.

"This is odd."

As I walk down the stairs, I'm not sure if my father's talking to me or to himself. He has two newspapers in his hand.

"What is it?" I ask, pulling my robe tighter as I get closer to the open door.

"This is strange."

I close the door rather loudly, which forces my father to look at me. "You mentioned that, Dad. What is it?"

"This paper is from New Hampshire." He hands it to me.

I grab the paper and rush to the sofa, tucking my legs under my body. "I didn't expect it so soon."

"You ordered a New Hampshire newspaper?" he asks, turning slightly. "What's wrong with the Wisconsin State Journal?"

"Nothing," I respond, flipping the pages, scanning the headlines. Here it is, just beneath the fold on page three: Bartlet Going Long.

"Your mother and I have subscribed to this paper for 20 years." He sits with a thud in his raggedy yellow recliner and opens the newspaper as if he's stretching sheets across a bed. "There's nothing in that paper that you won't find in this one," he says with a huff.

I'm captivated by the article. Words like "long-shot" and "underdog" are peppered throughout. Phrases like "snowball's chance in hell" and "the good finish last" catch my eye. But a quote from a Concord native catches my attention: "The words 'honest' and 'politician' shouldn't be used in the same sentence. But Bartlet is just an honest man. No one around here sees him as a politician."

I smile and hold the newspaper to me as if I've just finished reading a great novel.

"You wouldn't understand," I tell my father.

"Oh yeah?" He pushes his legs against the footrest and lowers the sports section. "Try me."

I hesitate because I already know what his response will be. I lower the paper just as my father has done, and it's crinkled in my lap.

"I'm following the presidential election," I say with authority.

"The presidential election?" He snorts. "That's a year away, Donna."

I put the newspaper in front of my face again, partly because I want to finish the article and partly out of embarrassment. I hate when my father admonishes me. 

"There's this guy, Josiah Bartlet. There's something about him." My voice is so low that I don't think my father hears me.

He lifts his paper again, but not before he shakes his head. "It's always about a guy."

I'd by lying if I said his comment didn't hurt just a little. But I have a feeling about this one. This guy, this former governor, is worth the ridicule.

"It's really not, Dad."

"Well, you need to find a good one, Donna. A good, hard-working, honest man. You won't find that in some politician." He laughs as he delivers that last line.

***

I threw away the three gifts that Tim bought me while we were together: a pair of Easy Spirit slippers, a purple Gap cardigan that he bragged about because it was on sale, and a book called "How to Make Love to a Man." I didn't so much throw that last one away as I burned it.

Nearly a month after Tim broke up with me, the only thing I have that reminds me of him is my job at the bookstore. The reason it reminds me of him every time I walk through the door is because 80 percent of my salary went toward his medical school tuition. 

To think of the things I could've done with that money! The first thing I'd have done is finish my bachelor's degree and move on to a master's. I would've gotten a job, or at least volunteered, at an underprivileged middle school. I would've rented an apartment downtown and decorated it with Pottery Barn furniture. Of course, I would've had to put a few items on layaway, but still. 

I can't say that I don't enjoy working at the bookstore, but things would've been different if I hadn't agreed to pay for Tim's way through med school.

I've been working at Pine Street Books for over two years. It's not a college bookstore, which is one reason I like it so much. The people who shop at Pine Street Books are intellectuals who read because reading is fun. They don't have assignments from professors who really don't care about literature. 

My mother used to take my sister and me to this bookstore every Sunday after breakfast. It still looks the same: heart-of-pine flooring, three bells hanging over the doorway, fresh flowers on the small counter against the wall, and about a thousand square feet of books. There's a small alcove upstairs with only two sections. One is dedicated to political thought; the other, modern essayists. An antique desk that needs sanding and polishing overlooks the bottom floor. There's a green glass reading lamp with a short gold stem that provides the only artificial light upstairs. The sunlight that shines through the panel of windows makes it the perfect place to read at sunset.

The bells above the door announce my presence before I speak.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jasper."

"Hello, Donna," she says, placing the Windex on the wooden counter. "I didn't expect you this early."

I greet the owner with a cup of hot peppermint tea. "I had to get out of that house," I say with an exaggerated sigh while unwrapping my scarf from around my neck.

"I'm assuming you mean your parents’ home?"

Mrs. Jasper knows about the fallout between Tim and me. She knows that I lived with him for three months. She knows that I dropped out of college to help Tim pay for medical school. She knew from the beginning that he was using me. But she kept her opinions to herself.

"Yes, my parents’." I move behind the counter and put my purse on the shelf next to my stash of red licorice.

"At least they took you in, dear."

I smile as best I can and take the Windex and rag to the front door. We make small talk for a few minutes before our first customer arrives.

"Dr. Mullen," I say, opening the door for him. "You almost beat me here this morning."

Dr. Elroy Mullen is a retired political science professor from the University of Wisconsin who's had a 25-year crush on Mrs. Jasper. She blushes every time he visits, which is on Sundays and Wednesdays. They talk politics for half an hour, then they move on to books, the weather, cooking and gardening.

"Your man Bartlet has his work cut out for him, Donna," he says, taking off his hat and overcoat. Bits of snow fall to the floor.

Dr. Mullen is the one who introduced me to Josiah Bartlet a few weeks ago. He gave me three articles about Bartlet, and we had a lengthy discussion about idealism and its place in the next century. After that conversation, I spent hours researching the former New Hampshire governor.

"I got my first copy of The Union Leader today." I walk behind the counter to get the newspaper.

He nods his approval. "So you did." His breath smells like cigars. He scans the article. "The man's got some fresh ideas."

"Especially on education and welfare reform," I add, peeking over the top of the paper.

"I just don't know if he has the support," Dr. Mullen says, putting the paper down and removing his glasses.

"Well, he's got mine." I smile and go back to cleaning the front window. I hear Dr. Mullen chuckle as he turns to go upstairs.

An hour later, as Dr. Mullen leaves, he turns to me and says, "Don't take this the wrong way, Donna, but I'm not sure you belong here."

He nods his goodbye. I swallow hard and tell him that I'll see him on Wednesday. His statement plays over and over again in my head. I'd never take anything Dr. Mullen said the wrong way. I know what he means. The thought of leaving Madison both frightens and excites me.

***  
In the middle of educating a 12-year-old girl about Edith Wharton, the phone rings. Mrs. Jasper is nowhere to be found, so I answer it. To my regret, it's my mother.

"Tim just called looking for you," she says without an introduction.

"I'm working, Mom." I turn my back so the girl can't hear my conversation. "Tim knows I work on Sundays. If he really wanted to talk to me, he'd call the bookstore."

"He sounded upset," she says. Ironically, so does she.

"At least this time, I know that it's not me who upset him." I feel a small sense of pride saying that.

"You should return his call. I said you would."

"I wish you hadn't said that." My voice is barely above a whisper. I turn around slightly and see Mrs. Jasper watering the ivy near the window.

"Maybe he wants you back?" She sounds elated.

"Maybe," I say as I hang up the phone. I can feel Mrs. Jasper smiling at me. I keep my eyes trained on the small service bell on the counter, but my smirk is hard to hide. Mrs. Jasper, as always, knows what I'm thinking.

***  
The bookstore closes at 4 p.m. on Sundays; but for the last few weeks, I've been staying a couple of hours later, enjoying the silence and being alone.

I've never liked being alone, but I've just recently come to understand that it is quite different from being lonely. The few hours that I have to myself at home are in my bedroom, which hasn't changed since high school. The walls are Pepto Bismol pink, and I have a twin bed with a white lace comforter. When I sleep, my feet hang off the end of the bed and touch the top of a trunk still filled with high school paraphernalia, including my band uniform and flute. My parents use half of the room for storage, so the space is cramped and smells like cardboard and mothballs.

When Mrs. Jasper leaves for the evening, I turn the volume on the radio louder and enjoy the classical music. At 5:30 on Sundays, there's a short, often obscure interview. Last week, they interviewed a woman about knitting what she hopes will be the largest scarf in America.

I settle into the desk upstairs with a cup of hot tea, a blanket around my shoulders and a book about the history of New Hampshire. I'd read somewhere that Josiah Bartlet's family was among the early settlers of the state. 

The music relaxes me and I almost doze off, but minutes later, the voice of Bill Bower on the radio startles me.

"Thank you for tuning in. Today on 'Only in America,' we have Joshua Lyman, senior political director for presidential hopeful Josiah Bartlet of New Hampshire."

I sit up so fast that the blanket around my shoulders falls to the ground and I nearly spill my tea.

"Good evening, Mr. Lyman."

"Good evening, Bill."

Joshua Lyman clears his throat.

"The name Jed Bartlet might be a household name in New Hampshire, but the rest of the country is in the dark. Tell us about the former governor."

"I think the first thing people notice about Governor Bartlet is that he's not a politician. He has a Ph.D. in economics and is a Nobel laureate. If you asked him about his profession, he'd probably say that he's an economist." He pauses, and it sounds like he's adjusting the telephone closer to his mouth. "I mean, this is a guy who enjoys filing tax returns."

I hear the smile in Josh Lyman's voice and picture him propping his feet on his desk.

"But he is a politician, is he not?" Bill Bower asks.

"Well, yeah," Josh replies. There's something almost cocky in his voice, which I find strangely alluring. "He served three terms in the U.S. House of Representatives and two terms as governor of New Hampshire. I wouldn't so much say that he's a politician as I would say that he's a man in politics."

"What's the difference?" The host chuckles.

"The difference is huge!" Josh's pitch goes up, nearly giving me chills. "It's the difference between Bartlet and Hoynes."

"You used to work for Senator John Hoynes, correct?"

"I served as a political advisor for Senator Hoynes, yes."

"Hoynes is considered the Democratic favorite. Why did you leave?"

There's a long pause.

"Because I found the real thing."

Although I've never seen a picture of Joshua Lyman, I can almost see a smirk forming on his face. He seems to be a man very pleased with himself.

The interview continues for another few minutes, and when Josh talks about the major campaign issues, he becomes so animated that I can picture him bouncing around his office. There's a sense of electricity when this man talks. He's captivated me so much that I don't realize that I'm sitting in utter darkness. The sun has gone down completely, and the bulb from the reading lamp must have died.

"Thank you, Mr. Lyman, and good luck."

"Thank you, Bill."

"That was senior political director for Josiah Bartlet's campaign for presidency, Joshua Lyman. If you're interested in learning more about Governor Bartlet's campaign for the Democratic nomination, write to: Bartlet for America, 1776 Beacon Way, Manchester, New Hampshire 03101. Up next, the unfinished works of Johann Sebastian Bach."

I repeat the address over and over in my head as I stumble downstairs in the dark to find a pencil. I finally make it to the counter and switch on a lamp. I write the address on a sales slip and stare at it for at least a minute. I put on my coat and slide the piece of paper deep in my left pocket, never letting it leave my hand.

***  
The snow has turned to rain and the wind has picked up considerably. As soon as I open my umbrella in one fluid motion, the wind turns it inside out. In the back of my mind, I know I should call my father and ask him to pick me up. My car is getting its 30,000 mile check-up, so I walked the mile to the bookstore this morning.

I don't realize until much later that my jeans are soaked from the nearly horizontal rain. My socks are so wet, I could wring them out. I walk so fast that I'm almost jogging. A car speeds past me, honking and splashing my right leg with water. I jump away too late. Now, in addition to being wet, I'm dirty. What surprises me is that I don't care. Joshua Lyman and 1776 Beacon Way keep running through my mind.

With one hand, I hold the umbrella which is swaying with the wind. With the other, I hold the Bartlet for America address tightly in my coat pocket. I concentrate on that piece of paper and the way it feels in my hand. Even though my fingernails are short, they're digging into my palm. But I don't let go.

***  
I try slipping in the front door of my parent's condo as quietly as possible. The soft click of the door is too much. When I step inside, I see my parents at the large oak dining room table to my right. I turn my back to them for a moment to close the umbrella.

"It's raining pretty hard out there." I try levity first.

"You're soaking wet," my mother says, setting her silver fork down with the tines facing the plate.

I duck my head.

"We didn't know if you were coming home for dinner, so we don't have a plate for you," she says, picking her fork back up and stabbing a piece of asparagus.

I pause. "I'll just eat leftovers, if that's ok."

"No, it's not!" My mother shouts. She turns her head toward me. "We have rules in this house, young lady, and as long as you're living here, you'll abide by those rules."

My father has just a little bit of a sympathetic expression on his face when he looks at me.

"What rules?" My wet jeans are making my legs colder by the minute.

"If you're not home by 7 p.m., dinner is on your own." She continues eating.

"I'm not in high school, Mom." This is insane.

"You're living here, aren't you?" She slams her fist on the table.

"Marjorie, that's enough." My father puts his hand on my mother's. "Donna," he says, looking at me. "There's a few cans of soup in the cabinet and some grapes in the fridge."

The sting in my eyes shocks me. I raise my eyebrows as high as I can and open my eyes wide to ensure the tears don't spill onto the new hardwood floor. And in that moment – that instant – I make up my mind: I'm going to 1776 Beacon Way.


	2. Part Two: Navigation

The first thing I realize is that I don't own a suitcase. I search deep in the closet for something to hold my few belongings. I find an oversized duffle bag with badminton equipment that I've never seen before. Did my parents pick up badminton while I was at college? Or is it something they've had for years but forgot to share with their children? I spend as much time pondering this as I do exchanging rackets for pants and sweaters.

When I'm confident that my parents are asleep, I venture into the hall closet to locate a large suitcase. When I find the tattered luggage, I carry it quietly to my room. Inside the 1970s Samsonite, there's a smaller suitcase that I decide to use as well. I find it almost disheartening that all of my possessions fit into three bags.

I toss and turn in my bed, thinking about New Hampshire. Will my car make it? Will I have enough money? Should I make hotel arrangements before I leave? Should I call Bartlet for America to tell them that I'm coming? Will they even want a college dropout to work on the campaign? Will Joshua Lyman be there?

At 3:45 a.m., I turn on the lamp next to my bed and grab my checkbook and a calculator. Balancing my checkbook, I realize that I have $281.16 to my name. That's about $270 more than I had two months ago. I flip the pages in my registry and see the check numbers corresponding to the name Tim Billings about 50 times. How could I have been so naïve?

I make a To Do List on the back of one of my deposit slips.

1\. Get directions and stopping points to Manchester, NH.  
2\. Ask Mrs. Jasper for my next paycheck. (With that extra check, I'll have $421.10.)  
3\. Close Madison bank account.  
4\. Cancel subscription to The Union Leader.

I write a note to my parents on the stationery they gave me for my 15th birthday. My name is printed in green ink with a horse on one side of the stationery and a clover on the other. I've never liked horses, and if the clover was meant to symbolize luck, well, I've never had much of that either.

_Mom and Dad,_

_Thank you for allowing me to live here this month. I feel as though my place is not in Madison right now, so I'm going to try something completely different. I have enough money to get by for a couple of weeks, so please don't worry. I'll call as soon as I can._

_Love,  
Donna_

 

***  
When I hear the front door close at 8 a.m., I take my bags to the living room and call Mrs. Jasper for a ride. I explain everything to her in the car, and her shock lasts about a minute.

She takes me to the bookstore where we both comb through maps and an atlas to find the best route to Manchester.

"Are you sure about this, dear?" Mrs. Jasper stills my wrist as I transcribe directions frantically.

"No." I look down, then back up at her. "But I have to try." 

She nods and smiles.

I stand up and squeeze her hand. "I'll probably only be gone for a couple of weeks. Bartlet's a long shot."

"That he is," she responds with a gleam in her eye. 

Mrs. Jasper hands me a $20 bill. "Take this. It's emergency money. If you get down to this last bill, you'll know it's time to come home."

"I can't accept -- "

"You must." She puts the money in the palm of my hand and closes my fingers around it.

"Thank you. I hope I never need it."

***  
Mrs. Jasper drives me to Louie's mechanic shop, and I retrieve my car. My father has already paid the bill, and for a moment I feel guilty. I think about what my dad will do when he finds the note. He won't worry at first. He'll think I'm staying with friends in Beloit or Chicago. My mother will think I've gone back to Tim, and she'll be happy for a couple of days. When I don't come back in a week, they might call Mrs. Jasper.

I've told Mrs. Jasper not to lie on my behalf. If my parents ask where I've gone, I've instructed her to tell them that I went to find myself. My father will undoubtedly roll his eyes and ask where that might be. I've told Mrs. Jasper not to lie, but if she did, I'd be ok with that.

***  
It's 360 miles to Wauseon, Ohio, which is where I'll spend the night. 

My car doesn't have a CD player, which is just as well considering Tim took all but two of my CDs. I'm happy with Yo Yo Ma and Dave Matthews anyway.

I listen to a little bit of everything on my drive: talk radio, rock, classical, Top 40 and country. I sing along to a couple of songs, but I mostly think. The one thought that consumes my mind is what I'm going to do when I get to Manchester. 

I think about three different scenarios:

The first is the happy one. I walk into the Bartlet campaign headquarters and the staff greets me with open arms, thanking me for volunteering. They assign me to work with the press, a task I graciously accept. We work hard eight hours a day and have drinks and play cards at night.

The second scenario is the realistic one. I announce my willingness to volunteer, and someone hands me a stack of fliers. He tells me to make a thousand copies, then pass them out on the street or put them on car windshields in church parking lots. I spend my days making photocopies and tying balloons. I spend the nights in my car.

The third scenario is the worst. I walk in with a smile on my face, but Bartlet himself tells me that they don't need any more volunteers. He says the campaign is nearly over anyway. It was a long shot. I'm forced to return home after two nights in a seedy Manchester motel and Mrs. Jasper's $20 in my pocket.

By the time my mind is exhausted, I realize that I'm in Wauseon. I find the cleanest, safest-looking hotel off the I-90 exit. It's a Days Inn, which isn't half bad, and it's only $39 a night with a free continental breakfast.

I buy a copy of the local newspaper and fall asleep on the uncomfortable bed after reading the weather forecast.

***  
Today is very similar to yesterday, but I have 450 miles to drive. I figure it will take me roughly seven hours of drive time, plus three hours of eating and resting for a total of ten hours on the road. That thought alone exhausts me.

When I'm about 60 miles west of Fort Hill, New York, the news is covering the upcoming Democratic primaries, beginning with South Carolina. A representative for each of the three leading candidates speaks. The one for Hoynes, Adam Cotes, speaks as if the election is wrapped up. He even slips once and says "President Hoynes." The one for Wiley, Damon Something, sounds almost uneducated. And the representative for Bartlet, CJ Cregg, the only woman, sounds like a polished professional. She has me raising my fist and saying things like "go, girl" which I've never said in my life.

***  
The final day of driving is long and frustrating. My neck is killing me. I should've packed one bag for the road and the others for when I get settled in Manchester. Instead, I'm forced to lug my heavy suitcase in and out of hotels. My clothes are rumpled, and the car smells like French fries and coffee. 

I'll be in Manchester in about an hour, and I have no idea where to go once I'm there. For the first time, I'm frightened. I'm not scared of this like I'm scared of bees. It's a feeling I have in the pit of my stomach. The only other time I remember feeling like this is when the words "it's over" came out of Tim's mouth. I swallow hard and vow to come up with a game plan.

Since it's already 8:30 p.m. when I get to Manchester, I decide to drive past the Bartlet for America headquarters, then find the nearest hotel. I'm doing fine with money so far, so if I can stay one night in a Courtyard or Holiday Inn, I'll be ecstatic.   
My nephew would tell me that I'm driving like a grandma right now. The sales slip with 1776 Beacon Way written on it is pinched between the steering wheel and my palm. My body leans forward, trying to look at street numbers while maintaining the speed limit. Two people pass me in SUVs. One of the drivers yells an obscenity. If I wasn't this tired, I'd reply.

I don't know what I expected, but when I find the correct address, my eyes open wide and my heart flutters. 1776 Beacon Way is a small first-floor office in a brick building one block off the main thoroughfare. There are windows across the front of the office, but much of the space is covered with Bartlet for America posters. I can see people rushing around inside. 

I roll down my window and am chilled instantly by the cold air. I hear voices from inside the building, and I notice that the front door is propped open just a tad. An older man with a beard walks outside and lights a cigar. I worry for an instant that he'll see me, but he's still talking to someone inside. 

Two others emerge: A very tall woman and a very attractive young man with dark hair. The woman forgot her coat, and it seems that the man with the beard is chastising her. But she doesn't seem to mind. The younger man chimes in, and the woman and the bearded man simultaneously insult him. But he doesn't seem to mind either. They all appear to be friends, or at least on the same page. I wonder if either of the men is Josh Lyman. I close my eyes and listen to their voices.

"Excuse me, miss?"

I'm startled by an older man in suspenders, bending down to look at me through my open window.

"I didn't mean to scare you, but this is a no stopping zone. I'd hate to see you get towed." He nods at me, then walks toward the office door. He puts his hands out like he's shepherding sheep, and the three campaign workers go back inside.

I take a deep breath and smile. I can't wait until morning.

***  
After driving around for another half hour, I find a quaint bed and breakfast on the corner of a tree-lined street. It's $80 a night, but I'm so tired that I don't care. 

By the end of my stay, I'll have $250 cash left. I haven't used a credit card yet because I don't want the bill to go to my parent's house. I'll apply for a credit card using Mrs. Jasper's address as soon as I get a chance. Until then, I'm living large with $250 to my name.

The room at the B & B is lovely. There's a queen size bed and dust ruffles. A white armchair sits in the corner next to the floor-to-ceiling window. The furnace is set perfectly. When I sit on the bed, I sink a few inches. I realize that it's a down comforter, and I flop on my back with a sigh. I notice the vaulted white-washed ceilings. In the bathroom to my left, I can see the front of a claw-foot bathtub.

I take off my shoes and strip off my clothes on the way to the bathroom. After filling the tub as full as I can with hot water and shower gel, I glide in and enjoy the moment. I don't think about my next move or even my next meal. I eliminate thoughts of finance and car trouble. I don't allow myself to think about my parents. The one thought that I allow to surface is of Joshua Lyman.

I think about his answers to Bill Bower's questions. I wonder if he had a cheat sheet in front of him or if he answered off the cuff. I think about the way I could tell when he was smiling. I liked the sound of his voice. It wouldn't surprise me if _he_ liked the sound of his voice. There was an edge of cockiness about him that could be seen as either annoying or attractive. But what I found most appealing about Josh Lyman was his excitement. It was as if Josh was a hopeful five-year-old on Christmas Eve, and the subject of the interview was his inevitable Christmas gifts.

I fall asleep in the bathtub with a smile on my face. Tomorrow, I will meet Josh Lyman.

***  
I don't want to be the first person at the campaign headquarters today, so I sleep until 8 a.m. When I wake up, I iron my white blouse and put my hair up in a simple barrette. I look professional and young, which, to me, is a pretty good combination. At breakfast, I have a croissant with raspberry jelly and a cup of coffee.

When I find a parking spot two blocks away from the campaign office, I take one last look at myself in the vanity mirror. I let out a deep breath, put my coat on and walk to Beacon Way like a woman with a mission.

I open the front door and pretend to know where I'm going. There are about 30 people in the main room. Half of them are on the phone or typing on a computer. There's a small group sitting at a table next to the back wall, eating donuts and talking quietly. Many of the volunteers are buzzing around the room with papers in their hands. The loudest sounds are coming from the four or five televisions throughout the room. I walk toward the vending machines to my left and pretend to be contemplating what type of delicacy to buy out of the middle machine.

"The cinnamon one is pretty good."

I notice the tall woman I saw yesterday standing next to me with a crisp dollar bill in her hand. She's actually only a couple of inches taller than me. I correct my posture. If I was in heels and she was in flats, we'd be about the same height.

"I had that one yesterday," I lie.

"Hmm." She inserts her money. "You can never go wrong with granola."

"Out of this thing, you can," I reply with a grin.

She smiles back at me.

"Can you tell me where Joshua Lyman's office is?" I don't look directly at her for fear that she'll see me blushing.

"Joshua?" Her smile widens. "The only time anyone calls him Joshua, and by anyone, I mean me, is when they want to butter him up. Or, you know, yell at him."

I feel my cheeks getting warm.

"Josh's office is around the corner. His name is taped to the window. You can't miss it. Or his ego."

I probably look lost for about a minute. There are people standing in front of one of the offices, and I can't see a nameplate. There's one makeshift office without a name on the door. I find Josh Lyman's office just before I start to panic.

I don't know why, but I expected Josh's office to be a bit unkempt. I walk around, taking everything in. Josh's calendar is wide open. Under a calculator, there's a list of phone extensions. There's a roster of employees and volunteers next to a book about domestic relations. Projection sheets are scattered on the top of his desk. I pick up two, comparing them. I actually understand this stuff.

I put a hand over my chest and feel my heart beating fast. I'm nervous but can't remember being this excited about anything. The phone rings. I don't allow myself to think about the consequences, so I answer it like I've been working there for years.   
"Josh Lyman." There's almost a hint of exasperation in my tone. "No, he's not available right now…Uh, this afternoon?" I quickly glance at his calendar. "He's got a media session and a 4 o'clock with finance. If you leave your name, I'll give Josh the message when he gets back. Thank you very much."

"Hi," a man says to me as he sees me hang up the phone.

"Hi."

"Who are you?" he asks.

"I'm Donna Moss. Who are you?"

"I'm Josh Lyman."

"Ah!" I disguise my shock as best I can under the circumstances. I expected him to be in a suit; instead, he's wearing a plaid button-down shirt that's open at the top. His white undershirt is peeking out. He has on wrinkled black pants that fit his body nicely. I avoid looking at his face too much because it would be hard for me to put on this charade while looking him in the eye. But for what it's worth, he has deep brown eyes with tiny specks of green.

Josh asks me a series of questions that I respond to as swiftly as possible. I'm nothing if not quick on my feet. 

Speaking of feet, thank God I'm quick on them because the man doesn't slow down. When we finally make it back to his office, Josh sits behind his desk, but I remain standing.

"And why did Dr. Freeride break up with you?"

That was a little pompous. And if I'd known this guy for, I don't know, a couple of years, I'd say his question was lined with jealousy. "What makes you think he broke up with me?"

We look at each other for a moment, and I have to sit down before my legs fail.

Josh brushes his hand over his face. "Donna, this is a campaign for the presidency. There is nothing I take more seriously than that. This can't be a place for people to find confidence and start over."

He's not going to do this to me. I'm not going to let Josh Lyman tell me why I can't work; rather _volunteer_ , for this campaign. "What? Is it going to interfere with my typing?"

He stands abruptly. "Donna, we're picking up today and going to South Carolina. If you wanna stay in the Manchester office--" He walks out of the room. I can't help noticing his butt. It's small and round, and when he stops, the crease of his pants falls diagonally over it.

"I want to come to Charleston."

"I can't carry you, Donna. I've got a lot of guys out there not making the trip." Although he sounds agitated, I'm getting to him. I can feel it.

"Look," I say with a serious expression. This is it. If I don't get him here, I'm finished. "I think I can be good at this. I think you might find me valuable."

The phone rings, but we stare at each other. I feel my chest heaving in and out after all of that walking and talking. I notice the shape of Josh's mouth. I can't take my eyes off his lips. It's almost like he's about to say something, but he's silent. I can see his mind working.

"Go ahead," he finally says, gesturing toward the phone. He's still looking at me, and I wonder what he sees.

I watch him for a second more, then pick up the phone. "Bartlet for America. Josh Lyman's office." I turn to him again, and there's a tiny smile forming on his face.

"Uh, yes. I think I'm going to have somebody from the press office if it relates to--"

Josh walks toward me and takes off his badge. He takes off his badge and hands it to me with the smirk that I knew he had even before I met him. I smile widely at him, trying to concentrate on the woman on the phone. My mind is reeling in this moment. I did it. I absolutely did it.

I am now Donna Moss, assistant to the senior political director for Josiah Bartlet. And I'll be working closely with said political director, which is something I think I'll rather enjoy.

***  
I took a stack of messages for Josh this morning; but since I haven't seen him for two hours, I'll have to handle some of them on my own. My first task is to find the person who handles the press.

I've been holed up in Josh's office all morning, so I'm not sure if it's been this quiet in the rest of the building today. When I roam around at 1 p.m., it's calm. How is it that everything is frenetic and chaotic in there, but it seems like smooth sailing out here? With Josh, there's nothing that's not urgent. His energy is somehow linked to chaos and noise.

"Where is everyone?" I ask the tall woman who's making copies.

"I have no idea." She's not paying attention to me. "This damn thing!"

Before she kicks the copier again, I gently push her aside and take a look at the machine. "It's not on collate. You want it to collate and staple, right?"

"Yeah." She's still eyeing the copier.

I press a couple of buttons and fix it. "There."

"Thanks," she says, eying me.

"Sure." I shrug.

"Do I know you?" She asks, squinting.

"We met this morning at the vending machines." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

"Right. You're the woman who tried the cinnamon thing."

"And you had the granola." I smile.

"You were looking for Josh's office. Did you find it?" She turns her attention back to the copier.

"Yes. I'm Josh's new assistant."

She whips around. "Josh has an assistant?"

"Yes."

"And it's you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"This cannot be good," she says under her breath as she gathers the collated copies.

"Can you tell me where I should direct questions about the media?" I ask, looking at the notepad in my hands.

"You're joking?" She's smiling at me again.

I shake my head.

"I suppose it's time that we officially meet. I'm CJ Cregg, the campaign press secretary."

I don't shake her proffered hand. "You're CJ Cregg?" That name sounds familiar, but I don't remember it.

"Yes." She sticks her hand out a little further.

"CJ Cregg?" It's coming to me.

"We've established that."

I've finally placed it. "You were on the radio!"

"Yeah."

"I just admire you so much and--"

"I've held my hand out here for, what, two minutes, and you're not shaking it. Am I not holding it high enough?" She raises her hand, and I shake it vigorously. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cregg."

"Call me CJ. And you are?"

"Donna Moss from Madison, Wisconsin." I finally let go of her hand.

"Nice to meet you Donna Moss from Madison. It's got a nice ring to it." She bops her head a bit as she turns to walk back to what I assume is her office.

I follow her. "A woman named Georgia called about the press configuration in Charleston."

CJ and I walk and talk around the office, and I jot down notes along the way. I have a feeling that I'm going to have to get used to doing this.

***  
At 5:45 p.m., a loud bell rings in the main room.

"Let's go!" a man's voice calls. "If I don't call your name, you're burning the midnight oil in Manchester. Maybe we'll see you in Maine."

The man lists only about 15 names, and mine is not one of them. It's not that I expected to go to Charleston, but it would've been an amazing experience. 

I busy myself with organizing Josh's office when he comes busting in.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks in one breath.

"I'm organizing." I'm sitting on the floor with two boxes on either side of me and about 50 manila folders stacked between my legs.

"We're gonna be late. Get your stuff." Josh grabs his backpack from a chair in the far corner and shoves his calendar and a book in it. I expected him to have a nice leather briefcase. Instead, he's carrying a tattered navy blue backpack that he might have used in high school. He almost looks like a school boy with it slung over his shoulder.

He takes three steps out of his office, then turns around. "What part of 'we're gonna be late' didn't you understand?" 

He's smirking, and it's the first time I've noticed his dimples. He's got two perfectly formed symmetrical dimples, which definitely add to the school-boy look he's got going. I'd bet that his dimples are a double-edged sword. He probably likes them when he wants to be charming and persuasive and hates them when he's trying to be threatening and serious.

Although his hairline is receding, his brownish-red waves, almost curls, add to his boyish exterior. If I had to guess, I'd say that he doesn't like his curly hair, so he tries brushing the curls out in the morning. I notice a stray curl just below his ear, and for some odd reason, I want to put it back in place. I'll bet that as the day wears on, his hair becomes more and more out of control.

"Donna?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

I quickly alter my stare from his hair to his eyes. "Hmm?"

He doesn't say anything. He adjusts his backpack higher over his left arm and motions his head for me to follow him.

I gather what I think might be essential documents, shove them in my purse and nearly run to catch up.

***  
Everyone has claimed his or her seat on the campaign bus by the time Josh and I arrive. He takes the closest set of two seats, which is in the fifth row. I'm forced to the back of the bus in the third to last row. 

My position on the bus doesn't bother me, but not having a change of clothes does. I have no idea how long we'll be gone. The thought of all my belongings in my car makes me weak. I don't even know if my car is safe where it's parked. I think I remember seeing a street-cleaning sign, but I don't remember what day parking is limited.

I close my eyes with worry.

I feel the seat next to me sink. When I open my eyes, I see Josh.

"How you doin'?" he asks as if the question is one word.

I smile and straighten my posture. "Hi."

"You're ok back here?" His hands are clasped in his lap.

"Yes, thank you."

He nods, then looks out the window.

"Josh?"

"Yes."

"I didn't expect to come to Charleston." I lower my head and fiddle with the barrette that I've removed from my hair.

"But you wanted to come, right?" His body tenses.

"Yes."

"Then what's wrong?" His voice is barely above a whisper. He turns his shoulders slightly toward me.

"I don't--my suitcase is--" I look directly at him and try again. "Everything I own is sitting in my car in Manchester."

He regards me for a moment, then shrugs and smiles. "So you'll borrow something from CJ."

"That's not the point," I protest.

"What IS the point, Donna?"

I think about that question. Just 24 hours ago, I was on my way to Manchester with nothing but a tank of gas and three suitcases. Now, I'm the assistant to the senior political director for Jed Bartlet, presidential hopeful. How can I possibly complain about anything?

I smile at Josh. "I'm here. Thank you for taking me."

"You're welcome." He reclines his seat and closes his eyes.

At first, I was surprised that he even sat next to me. Now, I'm shocked that he seems to be staying here.

"You better get some sleep," he says with his eyes still shut. "We're sleeping on the bus tonight. The Governor has a breakfast at 8 a.m. in Raleigh. We'll make it to Charleston by 4 o'clock."

I lean back, but my shoulders are tense. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

I hesitate. "I don't know any of these people."

He opens his eyes and lifts his head. "You don't even know me!"

I think he senses the fear in my eyes. He grins and adds, "yet."

I smile and finally close my eyes.

***  
When I wake up at godknowswhattime, I'm in almost complete darkness. I feel something on my thigh, but I can't place where I am yet. First, I shift my body just a tad and feel it ache. Next, I open my eyes and see street lights whizzing by me. When my eyes adjust, I realize I'm on the campaign bus. I turn to my left and see Josh next to me.

I find it curious that I know it's Josh. He's not "some man" or "the man I met today." I didn't have to think about it even in my barely conscious state. I just knew it was him.

Josh's left leg is hooked around the seat in front of him, while his right leg is stretched out as far as possible underneath the seat. His head is parallel to his right shoulder, and his mouth is slightly open. When I look down, I realize that the weight in my lap is his arm. It feels almost like a blanket. His palm is facing up, and his fingers are curled inward. They flinch every once in a while. His forearm looks strong – like he plays tennis. Then again, it's pale and smooth, which means he probably doesn't get outdoors much. The position of his arm, and indeed his body, strikes me as vulnerable. 

I watch Josh sleep for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The little flinchings of his body as he dreams. I wonder what his life is like. Has he always been in politics? Where did he go to college? Does he have a girlfriend?

That last question bothers me for some reason. I'm too tired, and possibly too frightened, to examine it any closer. I fall asleep telling myself to stop thinking too much.

***  
I'm awakened by the sound of laughter and chatter. When I open my eyes, I notice that the seat next to me is empty. There's a blanket over my legs. I sit up straight so I can see what's going on in the front of the bus. CJ, the bearded man, and Josh are in a heated discussion that seems to attract the Governor's attention. He turns in his seat and puffs out his chest as if he's about to deliver a soliloquy. CJ rolls her eyes, which makes me giggle. 

At that moment, Josh catches my eye. My smile fades a little, as if I've been caught eavesdropping. But Josh grins just slightly, and my face lights up again. His eyes return to Jed Bartlet.

I've seen a few pictures of the Governor, but seeing him in person is quite different. He's much shorter than I expected, but he doesn't seem short, if that makes sense. He has…gravitas. He's wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt and jeans. I remember reading that he graduated from Notre Dame. I expected him to always be in a suit. I like that he's not.

***  
The bus stops at the Raleigh Westin Hotel at 7:15 a.m. The Governor and his wife retreat to a hotel room until the 8 o'clock breakfast. 

As I stand against a wall in the back of the breakfast room, I watch Josh walk around instructing people or talking on his cell phone. He's changed into a gray suit with a red and blue tie. It's the first time I've seen him in a suit, and he wears it extremely well. 

I notice the way he walks almost immediately. It's not so much a strut as it is a swagger. It's the only thing besides his receding hairline that makes him not look boyish. His swagger goes into full-gear when the guests arrive and he greets them with a firm handshake.

Just before all of the guests are seated, Josh answers his cell phone. He walks into the hallway, but I can still see him. He's gesticulating wildly and bouncing on his toes. When the call is over, he slams the phone shut and takes a deep breath.

The Raleigh mayor begins his speech, and I turn my attention to the podium.

"Donna?" Josh whispers. 

He startles me. "Hmm?" I turn to face him.

"I need you to call Barbara Bryant and Nell Guillot." He hands me a slip of paper. "Tell them that there's no way in hell the governor is going to support their idiotic plan."

A few heads turn toward us as Josh's voice rises above the silence.

"I don't think I'll use the word 'idiotic,'" I whisper.

"Tell them I said it." Josh has become quite animated. "Tell them they can take their vouchers and shove them up--"

"Josh!" I silence him with my hand on his arm. "Keep your voice down!"

"It's ridiculous, Donna. We won't support school vouchers, and they need to know that in no uncertain terms. Do they think we're just gonna--"

CJ, hearing Josh's obnoxiously loud voice, turns around slowly and gives him an evil glare.

"Oh God." He looks nervous.

"What?" I ask.

"She's gonna hurt me."

"Who?"

"CJ."

"CJ's going to hurt you?"

"She's a big woman, Donna. She'll hurt me."

I hit him on the shoulder with my notebook.

"Ow!"

"If you don't keep your voice down, I'm going to hurt you." I turn my body toward the mayor. "And that's for CJ."

I notice CJ's smile. She leans over to the bearded man and whispers something in his ear. He tries to discreetly turn around, but I don't think stealth is his forte. He gives me an appraising glance, then turns his attention back to the notepad in front of him.

Josh hands me his cell phone and our fingers touch. I get a rush of anticipation and excitement, which I attribute to this being my first professional phone call. Although I wish it wasn't a call to admonish someone I know nothing about.

***  
Spirits are high when we return to the bus at 10 a.m. People are patting each other on the backs and giving high fives. One man asks if there's any champagne on board. 

I get the feeling that everyone on the bus is a team. I like that. I wonder if I'll ever feel like part of the team.

"Hi."

"Hi, CJ," I say, scooting over so that she can sit next to me.

"I see you've learned how to handle Josh." She grins.

"I get the feeling that he's opinionated and often loud."

"Ya think?"

We smile.

"You said you're from Madison?"

I nod.

"When did you start working on the campaign?"

"Yesterday," I respond.

"Yesterday?"

I nod again.

"But--" CJ looks like she's processing this information. "You were assigned to work for Josh yesterday?"

"Not so much assigned as, well, appointed."

"Appointed by whom?"

"Self-appointed, actually."

CJ snorts, then laughs heartily. My shoulders relax. She's laughing so hard that I begin to giggle as well.

"Could you keep it down back there? Some of us are trying to work." I recognize the voice of the bearded man.

"Who is that?" I ask CJ.

"That's Toby Ziegler. He's in charge of the Governor's message."

"So he's a speechwriter?"

"Yeah. He's been a political operative his entire life. I've known him for years."

"Has he always been so--"

CJ laughs. "Yeah. Always," she says.

"The young guy – Sam, is it?"

CJ peers over the seat and looks at Sam. "Yes. Sam Seaborn. He works closely with Toby. Josh brought him on board. He's incredibly perceptive and intelligent, but he's young."

"I'm young," I say with raised eyebrows.

She regards me. "A different kind of young."

"He's cute."

CJ grins.

I'm not interested in Sam Seaborn, but I don't tell CJ this.

"That's Mandy Hampton," CJ says when a loud female voice rings through the bus. "She's the media director." There's an undercurrent in CJ's voice that makes me think that she doesn't particularly care for Mandy.

"She's also Josh's on again/off again girlfriend," CJ says, tilting her heard toward me but looking at the woman with the short dark hair.

I feel like I've been hit in the chest.

"Josh has a girlfriend?"

CJ looks at me. "If you can call it that. One day they're together, the next day they're not. I've only been working with them for a few weeks." She crosses her legs. "When they're 'on,' Josh is in a worse mood than when they're 'off.'"

My mouth is hanging open as I process the fact that Josh is dating Mandy. I ignore the look that CJ's giving me partly because I'm afraid of what she's thinking, and partly because I'm not prepared to speak.

I have a pretty good view of Josh between the rows of seats in front of me. He keeps running his hand through his hair, and it's getting incredibly messy. He rarely looks at Mandy, even though she's part of the conversation. It doesn't seem like he's mad at her so much as he seems, well, uninterested in her presence.

I look out the window and see my reflection. I look like hell. I'm the only one in the same clothes as I was in yesterday. If anyone else has noticed, they haven't mentioned it. They probably think I was too busy or tired to change. I have to get some other clothes before I start to look homeless.

CJ runs down the schedule for me, and I'm happy to learn that we're staying in a hotel tonight. I'm not happy that I'll have to fork over some of my limited cash, but I'd give anything for a hot bath and warm bed right now.


	3. Part Three: Adjoining Doors

When we arrive at the Charleston Marriott, there's a group of about 60 supporters greeting us when we step off the bus. I have a sudden rush of pride as the people cheer and wave 'Bartlet for America' signs.

Josh grabs my elbow and walks toward the hotel lobby. "I need you to type these notes and call Senator Orvis' office. He'll want you to e-mail this list to him. You need to stall him. Tell him that we're still waiting on Arceneaux, and as soon as we get the word, we'll send him the list."

He puts his overnight bag over my shoulder. "Check in for me and put this in my room."

Mandy passes by and grabs Josh by the hand. He's still looking back at me as she pulls him to the corner of the lobby desk.

"I thought we agreed to share a room in Charleston," Mandy says with her hands on her hips.

Josh bends down and speaks in a low voice. "Not now, Mandy."

"When, Josh?" She's still speaking in her normal tone.

He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't have time for this."

"You never have time for this!" Her arms are folded across her chest now.

"We're about to go through our first primary, and you expect me to be thinking about you right now?" Josh's voice is still low, but it's louder than before. 

A few people look in their direction. I remain in line to check in, keeping my eyes concealed by a "Religion's Place in Politics" pamphlet that I found on a table in the lobby.

"I expect you to think about _us_ , not me," Mandy says emphatically.

Josh looks up and catches my eye. I see his jaw clench before I avert my eyes.

He lowers his voice again. "I don't have time for this." And he walks toward me.

"You're Donna Moss, right?" comes a voice to my right.

I swing my head around. "And you're Sam Seaborn."

He shakes my hand. "It's nice to meet you. CJ's filled me in."

I know he can sense my confusion. He recovers quickly. "She said that I'd like you."

I smile.

Josh approaches me at that moment. "Donna, can I have a word with you?"

"Nice to meet you, Sam," I say.

"You too," he calls after us as Josh pulls me to the spot where he and Mandy were just standing.

"I don't know if you've met Mandy yet," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Under no circumstances are you to give her any information about me. If she wants polling numbers, tell her to come to me directly. If she wants my room number, tell her she's out of luck."

"Josh, I hardly feel comfortable--"

"Donna." He looks at me with a stern face. His pupils are going back and forth like he's reading a book, but he's looking in my eyes. It's hypnotizing. When his pupils still, Josh squeezes my shoulder, then walks away. It takes me a second to get my bearings. 

When I do, I go back to my place in line, which Sam was kind enough to hold. Josh motions for Sam to join him.

"I saved your spot," Sam says with a smile.

"I appreciate it."

"We'll catch up later?" He sounds hopeful and, as CJ said earlier, young.

I nod.

I hear Sam talking to Josh as they walk toward the elevator. "I just met Donna. She seems nice."

Josh looks at Sam and raises his chin a bit. "Yeah."

Before he gets in the elevator, Josh looks back at me. I don't smile. Neither does he.

***  
I'm very pleased that the hotel room is discounted for AAA members. Instead of paying $139, I'm paying $100 plus tax. That still leaves me with over $100 cash. I picked up an application for a Marriott Visa in the lobby and plan to fill it out on the bus tomorrow.

I didn't notice that when the clerk gave me two keys, the rooms were next to each other. I slide the key into the first door and step inside. The room is spacious and bright. If I'm carrying Josh's stuff, I'm taking the better room. I go back outside and slip the other key in that door. The rooms are identical, but everything is on opposite sides.

"Hi," Josh says from behind me.

"You scared me!" My hand flies to my chest.

"Is this my room?" He walks past me and sits on the bed, taking off his shoes.

"No. This one's mine," I reply, trying to hide my satisfied grin. I'm not giving in to him. Let him take his bag and walk the three feet to the next room.

He stands with his shoes in his hand and unlocks the adjoining door, which I just noticed. Then, he walks out the main door.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room." He points to the room next door.

"Do you think the door is going to magically open?" I ask, finally dropping his heavy bag.

"Right." He walks back in my room with his navy blue socks and his swagger.

I hand him the key. He smiles at me as he picks up his bag and walks out. The door slams shut, and I flop on the king size bed. I cannot wait to crawl in bed and--

"Donna!" Josh bellows from outside.

I sit up abruptly. "Yes?"

"This isn't my key!" I think he's pressed against my door.

I open the door slightly and hand him the other key. I stand there for a few seconds, watching him fiddle with the key card and cursing under his breath.

"Give it to me." I slip the key in, and in one try, the door opens.

He heaves the bag over his shoulder and balances his shoes on top of it. "Thanks." And he's gone.

Where was I? Ah, yes. I can't wait to snuggle in this large luxurious bed. But first, I'll take a hot bath. I take off my shoes and begin unzipping my pants when the adjoining door opens.

"Josh!"

His eyes cover my body in one swoop. "Sorry."

I expect him to shut the door and go back into his room; instead, he takes a few steps into my room and grabs the television remote control.

I'm speechless. "What the hell are you doing?" Well, not completely speechless.

"Toby said they're covering the primary on channel 4." He makes himself comfortable, leaning his back against the headboard and kicking his feet up. He even puts one of my pillows behind his back for extra support.

"Don't you have a TV in your room?" I ask, ensuring that my zipper is completely up.

"I like this room better." He's looking at the remote control, trying to figure out how to turn the channel.

I take the remote from him and press the up button three times to channel 4. "I'm taking a bath."

Josh's head whips around. His eyes are focused somewhere on my body, but I turn away from his glare before I can figure out where he's looking.

I step into the bathroom and turn on the water, pour some hotel bath gel into the tub, and place a towel on the toilet seat.

"Are you hungry?" Josh yells. 

How am I going to get naked with him not 20 feet away?

"I could eat," I respond. I'm actually starving.

I don't hear anything, so I resume my bath preparations. I check the bathroom lock three times before I undress. When I'm satisfied that the door is indeed locked, I strip as fast as I can and jump in the tub that is now wonderfully filled with bubbles.   
Josh Lyman is reclining on my bed while I take a bath. It takes me a while to process that. I met this man yesterday, but it feels, I don't know, natural. Even ordinary. Like it's something we've done a thousand times. I skim my hands over the top of the water and settle deeper into the bubbles.

I wonder what Josh's doing right now. Is he glued to the TV or is he pacing around the room? Did he untuck his shirt or loosen his tie? Is his hair still going in ten different directions or did he try straightening it? 

I close my eyes for a minute and try erasing all of my thoughts. When I open them, I realize that I have nothing to wear when I emerge from the bath. I don't recall seeing a robe in the closet.

"I need clothes, Josh," I yell. I can almost picture him smirking. "Stop smiling!"

"I'm not!" His answer was too quick for it to be true.

"I need clothes," I repeat.

Silence.

"Josh?"

Still silence.

"Josh, are you there?"

He knocks on the bathroom door, and I nearly trip on the floor mat.

"Here," he says.

I open the door just a tad to see what he's offering me. When I open it, Josh's expression gets my attention. As he's looking at me, his mouth opens a little, then he swallows hard. His hand, which I now see holds a t-shirt and boxers, slowly falls to his side.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?" 

"Are those for me?" I gesture with my chin to the clothes in his hand.

"Yeah." He quickly hands me the clothes and disappears back in the bedroom.

What the hell was that? I look at myself in the mirror and notice the way the tips of my hair are wet and the rest of it is wavy. My neck is damp, and a few beads of water or sweat drip down into the towel around my body.

The shirt Josh gave me is gray with Harvard written in bold crimson letters across the front. It's about two sizes too big for me. If he thinks he's getting this shirt back any time soon, he's got another thought coming. The boxers are blue. I clearly don't match, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Did you go to Harvard?" I ask through the closed door.

"Harvard undergrad, Yale Law School," he replies.

I'm impressed, but I don't say so.

I hear a knock on the door, and for a split second, I feel like I'm doing something wrong. "I'll get it," I say.

It's room service. The guy brings a tray inside and sets it on the desk. Josh pays him in cash.

I notice that Josh's tie is gone and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. His shirt is halfway untucked. He's rolled his sleeves up just past his elbows. The hair on his arms is golden. Josh has nice arms.

When the room service man leaves, Josh dives into the food. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," I respond, brushing my hair.

If I didn't know better, I'd say that Josh was trying to cover his stare with a mouthful of French fries.

"What did you order?" I steal a fry from his plate.

"I got a cheeseburger. I ordered you a salad." He tries looking around my body at the TV.

"I eat cheeseburgers, for future reference." I move to my right, blocking Josh's view of the TV again.

"Donna?" He looks up at my face.

"Yes?"

"I can't see through you." He puts his hands on my hips and moves me to the side.

Shouldn't I be thinking about sexual harassment here? The only thing I'm thinking about is the way his hands seem to fit perfectly on my hips.

I take my salad and sit at the other end of the bed. We eat and watch the broadcast, talking about the history of political primaries during commercial breaks.

"I'm going upstairs," Josh says, standing and putting his plate on the desk.

"What's upstairs?"

He wipes his mouth with a napkin. "We're watching the returns in Leo's suite. You should come."

That was sweet of him, but I don't say as much. "In this?" I ask, gesturing to my outfit.

He grins. I think he just said, "I don't know if anyone would pay attention to the TV if you went up in that," but his back is to me, so I can't be sure.

"I have to type up those notes you gave me earlier," I say. "Should I use the business center?"

"Use my laptop." He walks into his room and comes back with his computer.

He tucks in his shirt and slips on his shoes. When he gets to the door, he turns around. "You need anything?"

"I'm fine," I respond, looking at him one last time.

"Kay. Good night." He smiles and leaves.

I fall back on my bed and sigh. When I roll over, I can smell Josh on the pillow.

***  
After typing Josh's notes, I must've dozed off because it's 10:30 p.m. when I look at the clock. The TV is still on, and they've announced that Bartlet came in second in the primary. There's speculation that Wiley is going to drop out. This is excellent news! I'm sure the staff is celebrating somewhere.

I call Mrs. Jasper and tell her everything. She sounds more proud of me than I think my parents would be.

"I'm so happy for you, Donna." I can tell she's smiling.

"I can't believe it, Mrs. Jasper. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I'd be this much a part of the campaign staff."

"In my dreams," she says, "I knew you would."

"I've already learned so much, especially from Josh Lyman. He's got an incredible mind."

"I saw a picture of Josh in a magazine that Dr. Mullen brought to the store. He's an attractive man."

"Dr. Mullen or Josh?" I ask with a smirk.

"Touché, Donna," she says. "You tell me."

Mrs. Jasper has always been successful at making me blush. "My other line is ringing. I have to go."

"Stay in touch, dear. And do good."

"I promise." With that, I hang up line 1 and pick up line 2.

"Hello?"

"Did you see that, Donna? Wiley just folded!" Josh yells.

"That's great news." I smile.

"It's huge, Donna! Come celebrate."

I hear music and laughter in the background.

"I just finished typing your notes and--"

"To hell with the notes! Come up here. It's room--" I hear him put the mouthpiece below his chin and ask someone what room he's in. "Room 1410."

"Josh, I--" Before I can get my sentence out, he hangs up.

What do I do? I have this one outfit that I've worn for nearly 48 hours. I can wear the shirt and boxers Josh gave me. 

No way in hell I'm doing that. 

Maybe I should just stay in the room. Besides, I don't know anyone up there except for Josh and CJ. I met Sam, but I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't remember me. I'd just feel out of place if I went to Leo's suite. I certainly don't know Leo. All I know is that he's the former Secretary of Labor. I'm in no condition to meet such a powerful man. What if Jed Bartlet is up there? I don't really want to meet the presidential candidate under these circumstances. I think I'd rather have a formal introduction at a luncheon or something.

A knock on the door startles me.

"Donna?" The man doesn't give up.

I open the door, and I swear Josh is floating. His smile reaches his temples and his eyes are open wide. I was right about the tiny green specks. One corner of his shirt is untucked. I think this man has a hard time staying completely dressed.

"Come celebrate," he says. He puts his hands on my arms. The energy and excitement that I heard in Josh Lyman's voice in his radio interview is displayed right here in front of me. And he's touching me.

"I'd love to, but I truly don't have anything to wear."

He steps inside and picks up my white blouse. "Wear this. You can borrow a shirt from CJ tomorrow."

He's nothing if not persistent. I think Josh is used to getting his way. I'll let him get his way with me just this once.

"Fine," I say in my best exasperated tone. I take the blouse from his hands and grab my pants from the hanger in the closet. I close the bathroom door.

"We're gonna get Wiley's money, Donna." I think he's pacing. "This is huge!"

"What's Wiley's money going to do for us?" I ask, only because I like listening to him when he's this excited.

"It's gonna open doors. We're not gonna have to beg as much. We can cancel that damn fundraiser in Shreveport." Considering the way his voice gets far away and then close again, he's definitely pacing.

"What's wrong with Shreveport?"

"Nothing, if you're a Republican," he answers. 

I just know his dimples are showing, so I open the door quickly in hopes of getting a glimpse. I'm not disappointed.

As I pull my hair into a ponytail, Josh's eyes trail from the top of my head down to my neck.

"Let's go."

***  
When we get close to room 1410, I hear music and laughter. Josh knocks on the door twice before CJ answers.

"Where'd you go, mi amour?" She's holding a glass of champagne. She notices me standing behind Josh. "Donna!" She pulls me into a hug. I think CJ might be drunk.

"Hi, CJ."

"Come in!" She opens the door as wide as it goes.

I follow Josh inside, but in an instant, he disappears. 

I can do this. I've been to social gatherings before. Of course, all of the ones I've been to were with family, kegs or books. 

CJ walks in to the main room, raising her glass and dancing as she makes her way to the center of the room. "Whip It" is blaring from a radio in another room.

"Hi!"

I turn around. "Hi, Sam."

"Can I get you a drink?" He yells over the music. Unlike Josh, there's not a hair out of place on Sam's head. His olive-colored cashmere sweater fits him perfectly, and his shoes are well-polished. He doesn't have dimples, but his smile is warm and friendly.

"Sure." I follow Sam to a table on the right side of the room. There's a bucket of ice, two half-empty bottles of gin, tonic water, and three bottles of champagne, one of which is lying on its side.

"Where'd you get the beer?" I ask.

"Oh, that's in the other room." I follow him into the hall bathroom. This suite is huge.

Sam literally bumps into Josh. "Josh," Sam says excitedly. "Look who I found." He hooks his thumb toward me.

"Yeah," Josh says, taking a big sip of beer. I notice he's carrying two Amstel Lights.

"Donna wants a beer," Sam says. He goes into the bathroom, where I notice a sink full of ice and beer. "What kind do you prefer?" 

Josh is looking at me. His expression is caught between a smile and a frown. I can't quite place it.

"We have Bud Light, Amstel Light, Miller Light," Sam continues. "Do you notice a 'light' theme here?" He looks up, and I assume he sees Josh and I staring at each other even though it's only been a few seconds.

"Donna?"

I turn my attention back to Sam, who's now holding a beer in each hand.

"I'll take this one," I say, grabbing the Amstel Light.

Josh walks into the bathroom and shoves the unopened bottle back in the sink. I think that was supposed to be mine. He excuses himself.

"So, Donna, have you met everyone?" 

It takes me a second to acknowledge Sam. "I've met CJ. I know who Toby and Leo are, but I haven't met them yet." 

Finally, someone lowers the volume of the music.

"Allow me." He escorts me with his hand on my elbow toward the other side of the room. His touch is different than Josh's. It's a light touch. When Josh touches me, it's more, I don't know, possessive.

I look around the room as we walk toward the other side. There are about 10 people inside, and I recognize all but two of them from the campaign bus. I don't see the Governor, so I relax a little.

"Leo, I'd like you to meet Donna Moss, Josh's new assistant."

The older man in suspenders nods and shakes my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Donna."

"Likewise, sir," I say. My palms are sweating. "Congratulations on the victory tonight."

"We didn't come in first, but we'll get there." He smiles, and there's a gleam in his eye that reminds me of Mrs. Jasper.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to introduce her to Toby," Sam says, putting a hand on Leo's back.

"Good luck." I'm not sure if Leo's talking to me or Sam.

As we walk toward the balcony, I notice Josh sitting on the sofa. Mandy Hampton is standing in front of him with her arms folded.

"What's going on with them?" I ask Sam, gesturing toward Mandy and Josh.

"Oh, that's just Josh and Mandy," Sam replies, like it's old news. "Who ever knows what's going on with them?"

"Toby!" 

Is Sam always this gleeful?

Toby's smoking a cigar. He's got a glass of something that looks like whiskey, but I don't recall seeing whiskey on the table inside.

"Do you always sneak up on people like that?" Toby asks.

Sam ignores him. "This is Donna Moss."

"Toby Ziegler." He puts his cigar in his mouth to free a hand. I shake it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ziegler."

"Toby," he replies, taking the cigar out of his mouth and blowing a puff of smoke in the opposite direction.

"You're from Madison," he states.

"Yes."

Sam watches our exchange with delight.

"I used to be a Badger fan," Toby says, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his glass.

"What happened?"

"They started sucking around '93."

I smile. "In what sport?"

Toby grins at me. It almost turns into a full smile.

"I think he means football," Sam chimes in.

"Ah," I respond. 

Toby scares me a little. He doesn't say much, and when he does, it's usually something mean. He's been perfectly cordial to me, but I've seen him with Sam and CJ. The odd thing is, they don't seem to mind his roughness.

"I'm going to introduce her to Mandy," Sam says, standing in the balcony doorway.

"Better you than me," Toby says under his breath.

"Why'd he just say that?" Before Sam has a chance to answer, I'm standing in front of Mandy. Josh is next to her.

"Mandy this is--"

"Let me guess," Mandy interrupts. "Donna Moss from Madison, Wisconsin."

She's the first person I've met who doesn't offer to shake my hand. Instead, she holds her champagne glass with one hand and puts the other around Josh's waist. His arms are folded across his chest, and his beer is tucked under one arm.

"You're popular already," Sam says, oblivious to the body language in front of him.

"Did you attend the state university?" Mandy asks, as if my affirmation to her question makes me less than she is.

"I did." I find it somewhat amusing that Josh is trying to wiggle away from her grasp. I think Mandy is holding on to the back of his shirt.

"She's a Badger," Sam says with a toothy smile. "What was your major?" He turns toward me.

"She had like 14 majors," Josh says with a smirk. He's finally gotten two steps away from Mandy. She doesn't look pleased.

"In what field do you have your degree?" Mandy asks.

"There's CJ," Josh interrupts, catching my eye. "Have you spoken to her about tomorrow?"

"I haven't," I say to Josh.

"Excuse us," Josh says. He puts his hand at the small of my back and escorts me to CJ. Josh's touch is definitely different than Sam's, and "possessive" is the right word.

"You're back!" CJ yells as we approach her. I haven't had a chance to thank Josh for saving me.

"CJ, I know this is a little strange, but I was wondering--" I blush. "All of my stuff is in Manchester and--"

"What's your stuff doing in Manchester?" She asks.

"It's in my car."

"Why's it in your car?" She drains her glass of champagne.

"Because I drove from Madison to Manchester in three days and haven't had time to change clothes, much less unpack," I say a little rougher than I intended.

CJ laughs. It's that same resilient laugh as earlier today. Again, I find myself giggling.

"You're saying you need to borrow clothes?"

I nod.

"You've come to the right place." She puts her arm around my shoulders and walks me out of the suite. 

I turn my head and see Josh grinning at us. From this moment on, I'm cataloging his smiles.

***  
"Where's your room?" CJ asks as she stumbles inside her own room.

"I'm just down the hall. Room 1205."

"I thought Josh was in room 1205?" She looks confused.

I walk in her bathroom and fill a glass with water.

"CJ, do you have any aspirin or Tylenol in here?"

I peek my head around the corner and see CJ lying on her back on the bed. She's struggling with her watch and a bracelet.

"Ibuprofen's in the flowered bag on the counter," she says. "What room is Josh in?"

I dig through her makeup bag, feeling like an intruder. "I think he's in 1203." Found it. I take two pills out and walk into the bedroom.

She sits up. "Isn't that right next to yours?"

"Take this." I hand her the Ibuprofen and the glass of water.

She swallows the medicine. "He's a handful, ya know." She lies back down, kicking off her shoes. 

"I think I can manage." I pull back the sheets on her bed.

She stares at me with a grin before climbing under the covers. "I think so too."

I smile back at her. "About those clothes?"

"Oh, right. In the closet. Take anything you want except the blue suit." She rolls on her stomach.

I try picking out the least expensive blouse in her closet. I think the pants will be too long, so I'll just wear my own until I can buy some.

"Good night, CJ."

"Night." I think her face is smashed against the pillow.

***  
I'm awakened by the sound of banging on a door.

"Donna?" 

And a loud male voice.

"You're still sleeping?" The voice is much closer now. "Donna, it's 8 o'clock. We're leaving in 15 minutes!"

I think I smell Josh before I see him. He smells like soap. My eyes burst open, and I see him standing over me. He's wearing a starched white shirt that's unbuttoned and untucked. He has a maroon tie with little blue diamonds around his neck, still undone. I want to pull it.

"What time is it?" I ask instead.

"Time for you to wake up." He moves to the window and opens the curtains. Light streams in, and I cover my eyes.

"I must've slept through the alarm." I sit up and look at the digital clock on the nightstand. "At least I don't have anything to pack."

"The Governor is giving a speech tonight on tech jobs," Josh says, looking out the window. He turns to me. "Are you going to get up?"

"I'm up," I say, still in my morning voice.

"I mean out of the bed!" In one motion, Josh pulls the comforter and sheets off the bed.

I'm sitting in Josh's Harvard t-shirt, which is covering the boxers, with my ankles crossed. 

Josh looks at my legs.

"The Governor's giving a speech on tech jobs?" I give him the lead and move my hand in a circular motion, signaling for him to continue.

"Hmm?" He's still looking at my legs.

"Josh?" I question. "Tech jobs?"

"You're gonna need to put some clothes on," he responds. He turns toward the window and wipes a hand over his face.

I climb out of bed, grinning. 

When I make it into the bathroom, Josh continues. "This is an important speech. He needs hard numbers. Find out about the big ones like Veritas, Siebel and General Electric. Throw PeopleSoft in there too."

I'm surprised at the level of responsibility Josh is giving me already. On the one hand, I'm honored and excited. On the other hand, what if I do it wrong?

"How am I going to do that kind of research from the bus?"

He doesn't answer, so I continue. "There's no internet connection. We don't have a set of encyclopedias either."

"Encyclopedias?" He asks. I can tell he's just outside the bathroom door. "When's the last time you used an encyclopedia?"

I think about that for a minute. "Fifth grade? They'll probably be obsolete in ten years," I add.

"Maybe five," he says.

I come out of the bathroom and nearly run over Josh.

"Hi," he says, smiling.

I smile back. "So how am I going to do this research, Josh?"

"With a phone and the good people back in Manchester."

Josh hesitates before going back to his room. "We're leaving in 15 minutes," he calls over his shoulder.


	4. Part Four: Responsibility

CJ's light blue blouse fits me just fine, but I absolutely must buy some new clothes today. I wonder if there's a thrift store around? Goodwill would work too. I'd rather go naked then have to wear these pants one more day.

We stop in a small town in North Carolina for lunch, and there is, to my utter amazement, a clothing store next to the Subway: Bonnie's Boutique. I don't care if they sell hand-me-downs from 1970, I'm buying pants and sweaters.

"Where are you going?" CJ asks.

I point to the clothing store. "I'm desperate."

She smiles. "I'll meet you inside."

Everyone else goes into the Subway.

The clothes in Bonnie's Boutique are definitely not of this generation. Again, I don't care. CJ helps me find the most current fashions.

"Are you two shopping without me?" Sam asks.

"Hi, Spanky," CJ calls. "Donna needs some new duds." She flips through the sales rack.

"I can help. I have a knack for this sort of thing." He smiles.

Within five minutes, CJ and Sam have picked out 14 blouses, three sweaters, six skirts and nine pairs of pants.

"You guys are amazing!" I rush into the dressing room to try everything on. I don't have time to model all of the outfits, but I show them a few.

"What in God's name is going on in here?"

The three of us look up to see Toby in the doorway.

"Toby, maybe you can help," Sam responds, holding two blouses. "Teal or forest green?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask me that." He scratches his head. "Get on the bus, Versace; we're leaving."

"He's always so chipper," Sam says, looking at CJ.

As I'm checking out, I admit to Sam and CJ that like the female Versace, my name is Donnatella, only spelled differently. CJ chuckles and Sam compliments me on such a unique name. I instruct them both never to use it.

I'm quite satisfied with my purchases, which include a rather nice pair of black slacks, a charcoal colored skirt, a white sweater with pearl buttons and a purple silk blouse. I also bought a couple of pairs of underwear and some new pantyhose. All of this cost me just $92. Of course, that means that I have exactly $6.13 left, but I'm going to get that credit card soon.

I return to my regular seat on the bus to find a Subway sandwich waiting for me. I look to the front of the bus, and of all people, Toby grins.

***  
As we approach Baltimore, the people in the front of the bus are antsy. Josh, who I haven't spoken to since early this morning, is pacing in the small aisle.

"The Standard and Poors 500 shed two percent this week," Sam reports.

"Nasdaq is down three," Toby adds, tapping the seat in front of him.

"We're going in optimistic," the Governor says, whipping his jacket over his head. "I don't care if the S&P is down five percent and Nasdaq is down 12."

"Analysts are still upbeat," Josh says, waving his hands in the air. "They're expecting 18 to 20 percent growth overall. GE is up. We just have to hang in there."

Everyone storms off the bus at 7:10 p.m. We're late. I watch Josh, who gets off first, jog to the front of the Civic Center. He struggles with his jacket, and his tie is flapping behind him. I think from now on, I'm going to get off at the same time he does. He needs serious help with his wardrobe.

When I catch up with Josh, he's on his cell phone.

"I'll have someone get back with you soon, Lewis." He clicks the phone shut.

"He's about to start." Josh motions toward the Governor. He ushers me to the side, and speaks in a hushed tone. "I need you to call the Manchester office and find out everything you can about the FTC launching an anti-trust investigation into Shell Oil."

"My God."

He hands me his phone.

"Yeah. Just find out what you can."

I nod vigorously.

After the speech, which didn't seem to have gone very well, no one is in a good mood. We haul back on the bus, and I'm sure everyone else is thinking it too: another night in a bus seat.

"Donna?" Josh calls from the front of the bus. "Will you come up here?"

Me? Oh no. The Governor is up there.

I stand in the aisle until Josh scoots over and motions for me to sit next to him. The Governor is in the front seat, turned our way, and Toby and CJ are in the seats next to us. Mandy and Sam are one row back.

"What'd you get?" Josh asks.

"I talked to Lewis in the Manchester office," I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

Josh nods, signaling me to continue.

"He said that the FTC has launched a formal anti-trust investigation into Shell Oil's plan to close its Bakersfield, California, refinery."

"California's gas prices are already the highest in the nation," Sam comments.

"The refinery reduced crude oil processing to something like 20 percent below capacity," I add.

"They're trying to tighten gasoline and diesel supplies to boost retail prices," the Governor says. "I'm sure they're bringing in the cash at the other California refineries too."

"Have they been subpoenaed?" Toby asks.

"Not yet," I respond. I swallow hard, hoping that I gave them the information they wanted.

The Governor looks at me through squinted eyes. "Who are you?"

"I'm Donna Moss." I feel my cheeks getting warm.

"She's my assistant," Josh says with a grin.

"Thank you, Donna." He nods.

"Yes, sir." I walk back to my seat, smiling.

"Since when do you have an assistant?" I hear the Governor ask Josh.

"It's been at least a couple of weeks," Josh replies. I'm confident he's still grinning.

"Have you been working for me that long?"

***  
When we arrive back in Manchester at 10 a.m., everyone disappears. Most people go to their cars. I'm assuming they're going back to their homes or hotels and sleeping for 24 hours. But Josh, Toby, Sam, CJ and Leo walk in the door to the campaign headquarters.

Don't these people sleep? Do they live and breathe politics? I think for a moment that they're all nuts. Nevertheless, I follow.

Josh goes to his desk and immediately picks up his phone. "How did I get 43 messages in three days?"

"I'll help."

He looks surprised.

"Really. I'll help." I take a step closer to him.

He gets up and walks out of his office, then quickly turns around in the doorway. "Oh, if any of those messages are from the DNC or Hoynes' office, let me take care of it."

I nod.

***  
It takes me nearly 12 hours to return all of these calls. Fortunately, I'm able to hand off six messages. Some of them required major research on my part. I had to call back ten people to say that I'd get back to them within the next 24 hours.

"We're going to Maine tomorrow."

I look up at Josh standing in his doorway. Once again, he's completely disheveled. I find it strangely alluring. Maybe I just need sleep.

"I'll pack a suitcase this time," I say, setting my pencil down on the desk.

"You're staying in the Manchester office." He lowers his head.

I'm a bit shocked. "Was it something I did?" 

Did I offend the Governor? Am I not efficient enough? Was it my shopping spree with CJ and Sam?

"No, you were great. And if you think that's easy for me to say--" He exhales. "I need you to work on stuff back here."

"Can't I work on it from the road?"

"You said it yourself: there's no internet connection on the bus and we can't carry a set of encyclopedias." He tries to smile as he sits in the visitor's chair across from me. "Do you have a place to stay in Manchester?"

"Not really," I answer.

"By 'not really,' you mean 'no?'" Josh raises his eyebrows.

"Yes."

He stands again. "You can stay in my hotel room." Now he's walking toward the vending machines. This is oddly familiar.

"Josh, I couldn't ask you to pay--"

"Relax," he interrupts. "We have a monthly rate. It's paid for whether I'm there or not." He continues walking.

"That's very generous of you, Josh, but--"

He stops short, and I nearly run into his chest.

"No buts. It's done."

I look in his eyes. "Thank you."

His dimples will be the death of me.

"Josh, you wanted to see me?" a young man asks, approaching us.

Josh turns quickly again. "Yes. Kevin, this is my assistant, Donna Moss. Set her up with an e-mail address. She needs a cell phone too." He claps his hands together. "What other world problems can I solve before midnight?"

He's incredibly smug.

***  
I venture to my car to make sure it's still there and that no one's broken into it. There's a ton of bird crap on the hood, but otherwise, it's fine. I hop in and drive around the city for a little while. It's the first time I've been alone in four days.

I pass by the hotel where Josh's staying. It's a charming white house that couldn't have more than 15 rooms. I figure Toby, Mandy, CJ and Sam are also staying there. The Governor, his wife and Leo are staying at the Bartlet farm about 15 miles away.

When I look at the clock, I see that it's 2:30 a.m. I contemplate checking in to a hotel tonight or sleeping in my car. I have zero cash left, except for the $20 Mrs. Jasper gave me. She told me that if it came down to that, it was time to go home. I ponder that for a moment. Is this it? Is it really time for me to leave?

I know the answer before the question even pops into my head: this is only the beginning.

I drive back to campaign headquarters. I think I saw a cot in the back room.

***  
Although I only got four hours of sleep, I feel somewhat refreshed. I desperately need a shower, but that can wait until the campaign bus leaves. I'll go to Josh's hotel room, unpack some of my things and take a quick shower.

"You're here early."

"Good morning, Sam. So are you," I say.

"Do you like vanilla lattes?" he asks.

"I do."

He hands me a cup. "Then this is for you."

I actually hug Sam. It's the first decent cup of coffee I've had in a week.

"You have no idea how happy you've made me," I say.

"I think I do." He smiles.

I watch Josh breeze through the door, and I'm pretty sure he sees Sam and me as we let go of each other.

"Am I interrupting something?" There's an edge to his tone.

"I brought Donna a vanilla latte," Sam brags.

"I brought her a To Do List," Josh says. "Donna?" The part of that sentence that he left off was "follow me."

He's walking faster today than yesterday, but he looks better. He's cleanly shaved and his hair is still damp. I'm close enough to him to smell his shampoo. If his hotel has Aveda products, which I swear I can smell a mile away, I'm going to be in heaven.

"Here's your cell phone." He hands it to me. "It's not intended for personal use."

"I wouldn't--"

"My contact information is on this card. Don't call me unless it's an emergency." He hands me the card as we're still walking. He's pissy this morning.

"How will I get in touch with you?" I ask.

"I just gave you my card."

"You also told me not to call you unless it's an emergency." Yes, that was snarky.

"I'll call you." He turns and continues walking to his office.

"Here's a list of things to do." He drops the list on his desk. "I'll check in with you around 3 o'clock."

He shoves a few items in his backpack.

"Is everything ok?" I ask. I hope he can sense my genuine concern.

Josh looks at me. "Everything's fine." He hesitates for a moment, and I know he wants to say something else.

"Josh?" I prod him.

"Everything's fine," he repeats. "I have to go."

With that, he walks out the front door. I'm left wondering what the hell that was about.

***  
I sit down at his desk at 7:25 a.m. and read the To Do List.

1\. Call back the people you couldn't get in touch with yesterday.  
2\. Remind Senator Weston about the fundraiser tomorrow night.  
3\. Research farm subsidies.

Thanks for the lead there, Josh.

4\. Get polling data every night at 9 p.m.  
5\. Call Josh with polling data at 9:01 p.m.  
6\. Fax Josh polling data at 9:03 p.m. (Notice how I'm giving you two minutes to talk to me before faxing the numbers?)

Like that's some kind of treat.

7\. Get data from the South Dakota Education Commission.  
8\. Research health care in urban vs. suburban vs. rural areas. Start with Chicago.

That should take me, I don't know, three months?

9\. Pick up my dry cleaning at Tan's on Main.

In your dreams.

10\. Unpack your Catholic school girl uniform.

Well, he was certainly in a good mood when he wrote that last one. I guess he doesn't know that I didn't go to Catholic school. I could pretend.

***  
I talked to Josh four times today. Just as he promised, he called at 3 p.m. I'd already called back all of the people that I needed to, reminded Senator Weston about the fundraiser, and began researching farm subsidies. He told me to drop that and start with the South Dakota Education Commission stuff.

So I did. It took me about six hours to put something feasible together, but it's done. I love crossing things off a list.

It's now 8:57 p.m. and I'm holding the polling data. I call Josh, just as he instructed.

"Yeah?" He answers.

"Josh, it's Donna Moss."

It's loud wherever he is.

"You don't have to say your last name, Donna." I think he's smirking. What I wouldn't give to see those dimples right now.

"I have the polling numbers."

"Ok."

I give him the data he needs, and he reminds me to fax the graphs to him. I promise to do so as soon as we hang up.

"Everything else ok?" he asks.

"Yeah. I just finished the South Dakota stuff and I'll pick up the health care stuff in the morning."

"You finished the South Dakota Education thing?" He sounds surprised.

"Yes." I didn't think it was that big a deal.

I hear Josh pull the phone away from his mouth and tell someone, "She's done with South Dakota."

"Anything else?" I ask. Please let him say no.

"That's it."

Thank goodness.

There's a long pause. I think he just walked outside because the background noise has diminished. "Donna, about this morning--"

"Don't worry about it." Why do I blush when he tries to apologize?

"Fax me the polling data as soon as we hang up. You have the number?"

I repeat the fax number of the Doubletree to him.

"Thanks, Donna. Good night."

I hang up the phone, fax the polling stuff and grab my purse. It's been a long day. Hell, it's been a long week.

***  
When I get to Josh's hotel room, I fall in love. There are hardwood floors, a four-post bed and a reading bench beneath the window. It's the perfect New England hideaway. I drop my luggage and plop on the bed. When I turn my head to the left, I see the message light blinking on the phone. Shit.

As expected, it's Josh. He didn't get the polling data. I go downstairs and ask the kind woman at the front desk to fax the numbers again. Fifteen minutes later, I have her fax them one more time, just in case.

I'm about to take the shower I promised myself 15 hours ago when the phone rings.

"For the love of God, Josh, I faxed the polling data three times!" I say.

"You obviously know my son," says the female voice on the other end of the line.

"Mrs. Lyman?" My hand goes to my chest. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were Josh. He's called me I don't know how many times to tell me--"

"It's ok, dear," she says. "Believe me when I tell you I understand."

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"To whom am I speaking?"

I realize that I'm in Josh's hotel room. His mother is calling, and a strange woman answers her son's phone.

"Mrs. Lyman, it's not what you think," I begin.

"I don't think anything. And please, call me Miriam."

"Miriam, it's not what you think. I'm Josh's new assistant, and he's graciously allowed me to stay in his room while he's on the road."

"Josh had an old assistant?" I can almost hear her smiling, and it relaxes me a little.

"No," I admit. "I'm his only assistant. I kind of hired myself." Now I'm blushing with Josh's mother on the phone. This is humiliating.

"You hired yourself? Then you most certainly know how to handle my son," she says.

"I'm learning."

"I missed your name," Miriam says.

"Oh, I'm Donna Moss." I fidget with the phone cord.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Donna, even if it is over the phone."

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Lyman."

"Miriam."

"Right, Miriam."

"Where is my son tonight?" she asks.

"He's in Maine. You could probably reach him on his cell."

"I don't want to disturb him," she says.

I shrug. "I disturb him all the time."

I think she's smiling.

"Next time you talk to him, will you just tell him I called?"

"Of course," I respond, grabbing a pen to take her number. When I have the pen in hand, I realize that Josh probably knows his mother's phone number. "Is there anything that I can help you with?"

She hesitates. "Donna, has Josh told you about his father's health?"

I sit down hard. "No."

There's a long pause.

"Noah has cancer. He's going through his first round of chemo in a week."

"I'm so sorry." My hand rises to my chest again. I've know this woman for five minutes and already I feel attached.

"Thank you, dear. Every day is a new beginning."

"Yes." I hope she can hear my sincerity.

"Tell Josh I called."

"I will." I swallow. "It was nice talking with you."

"You as well."

"Your husband will be in my prayers."

We're silent for half a minute.

"Thank you, Donna."

"Goodbye, Miriam."

When I hang up, I'm surprised to find a tear rolling down my cheek.

Before I call Josh, I compose myself. I wash my face and change into his Harvard t-shirt and my favorite underwear. The shirt still smells like Josh.

I take a deep breath then dial the cell number that I now have committed to memory. No answer. I dial the Doubletree.

"Josh Lyman's room, please."

The phone rings, and Mandy answers. My heart sinks.

"Hi, may I speak with Josh?"

"Hold on." Mandy's laughing. I think she puts the phone against her chest because when she calls Josh, her voice is muffled. "Josh, it's the girl from Wisconsin." She knows my name. I know she knows my name. Why did she say that?

"Donna?" Josh sounds out of breath when he picks up the phone. That bothers me.

I refuse to make small talk. "Your mom just called."

"Is everything all right?" I hear the nervousness in his voice.

"Yes," I respond. "She didn't want to disturb you, but I thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah."

"Josh, why didn't you tell me about your father?" Maybe that was too forward. He doesn't respond.

"Josh?"

"Yeah."

"If you need to talk--"

"Yeah."

There's a long pause.

"That's all," I say.

"Thank you, Donna." His voice is sincere.

"Good night, Josh."

"Night." He sounds distracted.

I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight with this information. I feel a strong inexplicable tug toward Josh. It seems like he has a great relationship with his mom and dad. I wish I had the same thing, but my parents refuse to reach out. It's always about their needs or wants before mine. They probably haven't even enquired about my whereabouts yet. I'll call them next week.

***  
The next two days at the Manchester headquarters are crazy. I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Josh has me going in 11 different directions, and a few people on the campaign staff have asked for my help as well. Josh told me to tell them to "fuck off," but I told him that he could deliver those words if he wanted. Oddly enough, those people haven't asked me for anything at all today.

I talk to Josh five times today, and he assures me that everything is ok on the road. I try enquiring about his dad's heath, but he redirects the questions.

CJ calls me, and we blab for a solid 15 minutes about Hollywood news. I had no idea she was a People Magazine fan. She passes the phone to Sam, who tells me a couple of jokes he heard in Maine. They aren't funny, but I laugh anyway.

Sam passes the phone to Toby, and I gulp. The man is so gruff that I'd probably have a better conversation with a rock.

"I'm not sure why Sam passed the phone to me," he says.

"Me neither," I respond. I did some research on Toby Ziegler and learned that he loves the Yankees. "The Yankees look pretty good this year."

I swear he's smiling, even if it's just because of my effort. "They do."

"If Jeter has a good year, life will be good." Where did that come from?

"Indeed," Toby says.

"I'm a Cubs girl," I say. I'm really not. I just know that the Cubs are the closest baseball team to Madison.

"I'm sorry," he responds. He's definitely grinning.

"Yeah. We've seen better days." Please let this conversation end before we come to statistics or win-loss records.

"You've got Sosa. That's something." I can picture him shrugging.

"Damn right," I say. "Will you put Josh on the line?"

"Of course." He doesn't say goodbye, but I think that was one helluva Toby Conversation.

"How'd you keep Toby on the phone for more than a minute?" Josh asks.

"I've got skills, Joshua."

"I'm sure you do," he says, in a very seductive voice.

"When are you coming home?" I run a hand through my hair and briefly wonder if Josh is doing the same thing.

"Some time tomorrow," he says. "Everything ok with the hotel room?"

"I don’t want to leave."

I can almost hear him thinking of an improper response.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

We hang up, and I leave the office at 9:48: the earliest I've left since I started.

***  
This is, without a doubt, the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. The sheets are probably 400 thread count, and the comforter is down. I don't "fall into bed;" rather, I "sink into bed." I'd want to take this bed home if I, you know, had a home.

Josh is coming back tomorrow, so I make a mental note to pick up my personal items from the bathroom. I know my razor's in the tub, and I think I have a pink thong somewhere in there. When I drift off to sleep, I think of nothing but the weight of the sheets on my body.

At some point during the night, I hear a soft click. I roll over onto my back, but I don't open my eyes.

"Hi, Donnatella."

That gets 'em open. I think Josh is standing next to me, but my vision is blurred by the clump of hair over my right eye.

"How'd you know my real name?" My voice sounds groggy.

"Sam told me." Josh's voice is just above a whisper. 

He reaches out and brushes my hair away from my eye. The path that his finger makes across my temple stings. My breathing becomes irregular.

"What time is it?" I ask, trying to feign indifference.

"Almost 5," he says.

"I'm in your bed."

He smiles. I never knew that I'd miss his dimples this much.

"You are," he responds.

I want to push another piece of hair in my face just so he'll touch me again.

"I should get up," I say.

He pushes my shoulder back down as I try sitting. "Sleep. I'm gonna take a shower and get ready for work."

"You sure?" I ask.

He nods. 

I notice his blue shirt with its scalloped collar and his dark red tie that's almost completely undone. He's unbuckled his belt already, but his shirt tries covering it up. His hair is the messiest I've seen it, and that says a lot. I've never found him more attractive. Once again, I find it difficult to breathe.

Josh walks to the bathroom, and I roll on my side. There's a big mirror on the wall that I'm facing, and I can still see Josh. He's stalled in the bathroom doorway, untucking his shirt completely. I get a small glimpse of his belly button, and I shiver. He begins unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom. I smile at his reflection in the mirror, not thinking he can see my face, but he grins back. There's no way I'm going back to sleep now.


	5. Part Five: Jealousy

As much as my mind was working in overdrive early this morning, I must've fallen back asleep. When I look at the clock, it's 9:22 a.m. I jump out of bed.

"Shit!" I rush to the bathroom and wash my face. I brush my teeth while putting on my black slacks and wool socks. I throw on a flowered tank top with a pink button-up sweater over it. As I'm about to walk out the room 15 minutes after I woke up, I see a piece of paper next to the phone.

_Donnatella,_

_Realize that I will call you that as often as possible. I turned off the alarm clock and cancelled your wake up call. It's my birthday gift to you. Of course, I don't know when your birthday is, but don't say I didn't give you anything when it comes around._

_PS: Welcome aboard._

_Joshua_

I read the note several times with a hand to my chest. Just when I think my smile couldn't get any wider, I notice a check beneath the note. It's an official check made out to me for $200, and it's signed by Josiah Bartlet. I think I'm going to cry.

When I walk into campaign headquarters at 10 a.m., I have a bounce in my step. Nothing will ruin the mood I'm in today.

***  
I swing the door open and notice Mandy standing to my left, as if she was waiting for my arrival. 

"Good morning, Mandy," I say with a forced smile.

She starts to walk away as she speaks to me. "I understand that you're staying in Josh's hotel room."

This isn't good.

I adjust my bag over my shoulder and walk right behind her. "I'm not actually staying in his room. I stayed there while he was on the road." My voice is low.

Mandy's voice remains louder than normal. "We shared a room in Maine, you know."

I raise my eyebrows.

She stops. "Keep that in mind while you're sleeping alone in his bed."

She walks away before I can respond. I don't know what I would've said to that, so it's just as well. Wow. This is going to be a thing.

"You're here later than usual," Sam comments. "Not that there's anything wrong with coming in a little late once in a while. In fact, I was thinking just last night that I could use a little extra sleep."

"I'm not in the mood, Sam." I can't believe I just snapped at Sam.

He looks shocked. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Not right now." I walk to Josh's office, leaving Sam stunned in the middle of the room.

"Morning, Donna!" Josh sounds absolutely chipper. He gets up from behind his desk and is practically bouncing.

"Hi," I answer, dropping my bag on the floor with a thud.

"Did you get the note?"

"Yes." I start shuffling papers on his desk.

"Did you get the check?" He's giddy.

"Yes."

"I thought you'd be happy." He looks confused.

"Josh?" I whip around to face him. "Did you tell Mandy that I was staying in your hotel room?"

Now he looks deflated. "No."

"Why not?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell her?" I fold my arms.

"Because it's none of her business," he responds.

"Then how does she know?"

"I don't know, Donna. I didn't tell her!"

"Why not?"

"I just told you--"

"Right." I move around his desk and slam a few drawers.

"You think I _want_ my girlfriend to know that you're staying in my hotel room?" His voice got really high.

I think about that for a second. Basically, he's telling me that he does not want Mandy to know that I'm staying in his room. Interesting.

"No," I answer quietly.

He nods and clenches his jaw. "Did she say something to you?"

"I can handle it."

He steps directly in front of me and lifts my chin. "Did she say something to you?"

I look down, but Josh bends his head down too. I can't get away from him. "Don't make this a big deal, Josh. I'm getting my own room at an inn down the street later today."

"Donna." My name comes out almost as a whine.

"Josh." I look in his eyes, hoping he understands that we're treading on thin ground.

A small knock on the doorframe gets our attention.

"Am I interrupting something?" Leo asks.

Shit.

"No," Josh replies. "What's up?" He walks toward the older man.

"I'm actually here to see Donna."

Josh steps aside, and Leo enters the office. 

"You did this report on the South Dakota Education Commission, correct?" His face is hard to read.

"Yes, sir."

"Can you do a similar report for Illinois and California?" he asks.

"Of course," I respond, finally regaining my composure.

"I'll need the Illinois report by the end of the day. Thank you."

"Josh," Leo says, now looking at him. "Can I see you for a minute?"

"Yeah." Josh glances back at me as he exits the office.

I flop down in the chair with my head in my hands. What have I gotten myself into?

***  
Josh and I have hardly said two words to each other since our discussion about Mandy. I'm curious to know what Leo talked to him about.

I'm mostly using Josh's desk this morning, but I have to use the computer just outside his office every once in a while. I've asked Kevin for a computer for Josh's office, but it hasn't been delivered yet. Josh's laptop is off limits to me while we're at work.

At 2 p.m., I'm buried in books and files about education in Illinois.

"Can I come in?"

I lift my head to see Sam at the door with an expression of uncertainty.

"I brought you lunch." He raises a brown bag.

I can't help smiling. "Sam, this morning, I was--"

He puts his hand up. "Don't worry about it. I hope you like turkey."

Sam sits in the visitor's chair and takes out three sandwiches. "Where's Josh?"

"I'm not sure," I say, popping open the can of Diet Coke that he brought for me. "I've hardly seen him today."

"I have a ham sandwich in here for him." Sam's incredibly thoughtful.

I take the first bite of food I've had all day, and Josh walks in.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks.

"I brought lunch," Sam says, raising his sandwich. "I have tuna and ham. I didn't know which one you'd prefer so I--"

"Can't you leave her alone, Sam?" Josh runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry?" Sam asks, obviously confused about Josh's reaction.

"You're constantly talking to her or bringing her coffee or lunch. Enough is enough. She's _my_ assistant."

What just happened here?

"Josh," I try.

He looks at me. "And you accept it."

"Don't talk to me that way." Sam stands. "Don't talk to _her_ that way." He points to me.

"Stop this! Both of you." Now I'm standing. 

"Josh," I look at him. "Sam was kind enough to bring lunch for both of us. I haven't eaten anything today, and I'm sure you haven't either." 

I turn my attention to Sam. "Thank you for the coffee the other day and for lunch today. You're thoughtful and considerate, and I appreciate the way you've welcomed me." I touch his arm. 

I can see Josh's jaw clench. "I'm just saying that we have work to do," he says.

Sam glares at Josh. "Then say that." He picks up his sandwich and leaves.

Josh runs both hands over his face. I look at my feet. 

To think that five hours ago, I was on top of the world.

***  
The rest of the day is miserable. The worst part of it is that my mood is affecting my work. I can't concentrate on this damn report that's due to Leo in less than an hour. It's also snowing pretty bad right now, and we're expecting a foot of snow before midnight.

As I'm walking through the main office, I notice a big poster on the wall that reads: 

**South Dakota Primary  
Returns at 6 p.m.  
Hartigan's on Main  
Beer's on Bartlet!**

"Are you going tonight?" CJ asks, carrying a large stack of files.

"I don't think so." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "I have a ton of work to do."

"We all do," she says. "But this is what we work for." She looks up at the poster.

Just then, Toby walks by. "Take that damn thing off the wall." He starts taking the poster down, but CJ stops him.

"Don't be such a grumpus, Toby. People want to celebrate. Let them."

He eyes her, then walks away.

"I tell ya, the moods today," CJ says, shaking her head.

I think this is the first grin I've had since 9:30 this morning.

***  
At 6 p.m. the office is pretty much vacant. I don't recognize any of the workers still around, except for Leo. I hand him the Illinois report, he thanks me, then leaves. I haven't seen Josh since lunch, which doesn't really surprise me. I've felt his avoidance all day.

The snow is piling up outside, so I turn on the closest television and listen for a weather report. Not much has changed in the forecast, which means that we're still expecting a lot more snow.

Half of my stuff is still in Josh's hotel room, which I dare not go back to retrieve today. I still have a bag of clothes in my car. I'll just sleep here tonight. I'll either look for a hotel room tomorrow, or I'll be on the campaign bus headed to Illinois. Josh hasn't told me if I'm going yet. I'm pretty much expecting to stay here.

CNN is the only channel covering the South Dakota primary, and it's fuzzy on the television I'm watching. Maybe I'll just go to Hartigan's on Main to watch the returns. I'll have a beer with CJ and Sam, then call it a night.

***  
When I walk into the bar, it's packed. It seems like the entire campaign staff is here. A couple of people wave to me as I make my way to the bar. I smile at them, but I don't know their names, and I doubt they know mine. I wonder for a minute about how I ended up being closer to The Top Four than the people with jobs more like mine.

After ordering a Sam Adams, I scan the bar for Josh. I mean, CJ and Sam. I see the gang sitting at a table in the far corner with a TV in perfect view for them to watch the returns.

Sam's balancing his chair on its back legs and laughing about something with Toby. Toby's not actually laughing, but a smile is surfacing on his face. He's the only one not drinking beer. Maybe if I bought him an expensive bottle of whiskey, he'd warm up to me. I'll remember that when I have more than $200 to my name.

CJ's stuck talking to Mandy. The reason I say "stuck" is because her body is faced away from Mandy and it almost looks like she's kicking Josh under the table.

Josh is the only one who has changed clothes. He's wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Again, I'm reminded of how boyish he looks. He's adding his two cents every once in a while to both conversations. But mostly, he keeps looking around the room, then taking a sip of beer.

I hesitate before approaching the table. Maybe I should just sit with the rest of the volunteers.

"Donna!" CJ's waving her hands at me like she's directing traffic. 

Everyone turns their attention to me. I smile at CJ, but it's Josh who I stare at the longest. He keeps his eyes on mine and takes a long sip of beer. I can't read his expression at first. He's not smiling, but he's not frowning either. I notice Toby and CJ exchanging glances. Toby scratches his beard. 

Before I go over there, I need to know that Josh and I are all right. I wait for a sign, and three seconds later, there it is. He's barely, I mean _barely_ smiling, but his dimples are forming. 

He stands up and walks away as I approach the table. I've never seen Levis fit quite like that.

"Josh?"

Everyone's staring at him.

Josh returns with a chair and sets it down next to his. I smile. I don't take my eyes off Josh, but I can feel Mandy's eyes boring into me.

I say hello to everyone at the table, then turn my attention to the man next to me. He's still not fully smiling.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi." There's something about his voice that's different. It's a small, sweet voice that I haven't heard him use. It's clear that even his one-word greeting was meant for only me to hear.

"I finished the Illinois report." I hate breaking the mood, but I have too many eyes on me right now.

"Did you give it to Leo?" Josh asks. His voice is back to normal.

"Yeah. I handed it to him as he was walking out just after 6."

Mandy seems satisfied that Josh and I are discussing work, so she goes back to her conversation with CJ. I'll have to save CJ in a few minutes. But right now, I need to focus on Josh.

The way his body is positioned ensures that our conversation is relatively private. The only person who could possibly hear us over the noise is Toby, and he seems content smoking his cigar and talking to Sam about the Governor's comments on agriculture.   
"I started working on the California report, but when I turned on the TV to watch the weather, I got distracted," I say to Josh.

"Yeah." There's that other voice again. It's amazing how his face softens in 10 seconds.

"Then I turned on CNN to watch the returns, but the picture was fuzzy so I decided to--"

"Donna?"

"Yes?"

"We don't always have to talk about work." He's grinning and using that voice. It's a lethal combination.

"Ok," I respond, trying to hide my cheeks with my beer bottle. There's no way I'm successful.

"Your stuff is still in my hotel room," he says.

Despite his near whisper, I'm shocked that he's talking about this with Mandy two feet away.

"I'll get it tonight, Josh. I'm sorry about that." The subject makes me nervous.

"Where are you staying?"

I shrug. "I'm gonna just sleep on the cot in the office. It's really comfortable and--"

I feel his hand on my thigh. It's not a sexual touch; it's just meant to silence me. But I can't breathe.

"You're not sleeping on the office cot, Donna." He hasn't removed his hand.

"I slept there a few nights ago, and it was fine."

"It's dangerous."

"I'm a big girl, Josh." 

He removes his hand from my leg, but he's still looking at me.

I recover as quickly as possible and realize that we've been in our own conversation for way too long. 

I lean over the table to get CJ's attention. "How's that beer?"

"It's good, you wanna try it?" She asks, holding out a bottle with a woodchuck on it.

I reach over Josh's body to grab the beer, and my left breast brushes against his arm. I feel his bicep tighten.

I take a sip of CJ's beer. "It's a little sweet, but it's nice."

"That's because it's a cider," Sam chimes in. "It's made with apples and champagne yeast. You can also get pear cider, which I prefer."

"Are you a girl?" Toby asks, swirling his glass of whiskey around.

"I like ciders just as much as I like ales and lagers," Sam responds with a shrug.

I put my purse on the table to get my wallet, and the brochure I was reading in Charleston falls out.

Josh picks it up. "Religion's Place in Politics," he reads.

"I found it on a table in the hotel lobby in Charleston," I say.

"Are Democrats Anti-Religion?" he continues. "This is ridiculous."

"The secular left," Toby comments.

"It doesn't matter." Sam shrugs. "Trends among religious people don't favor Republicans. If anything, they favor Democrats."

"I find that hard to believe," Mandy responds.

Sam scoots his chair closer to the table. "Take a look at the last presidential election. Americans who attended church services one or more times a week favored the Republican candidate. Those who went to church less often or never – a clear majority – favored the Democratic candidate."

"Sam's right," Toby says, chewing on a straw. "Religion might be a factor in a voter's decision, but it's one of many factors."

"Are you saying that the Governor needs to be outwardly more religious?" CJ asks.

"I think he's as religious as he needs to be," Sam says, taking a sip of beer.

"He uses God's name every once in a while, which is the way it should be," Josh chimes in. "Do we want to run out and tell the world that he went to Notre Dame because he was considering the priesthood?"

"Maybe we should tell Catholics?" Mandy suggests.

"I disagree," Toby says. "I think he actively supports political programs that advance compassion. He goes to church often. If we push the Governor on Catholics, we isolate Jews."

"Other religions as well," CJ says.

"We're not gonna be hustled," Josh says, shaking his legs and moving his hands. "Republicans are trying to convince Americans that the religious experience that liberals tend to favor is not 'really' religion. Just because we believe in things like same sex marriage and a woman's right to choose doesn't mean we're not religious."

Everyone's given their opinion except me. I can make an educated statement about this. "I think the Governor is just following what successful presidents before him did." I shrug. "I'll take old-time religion any day: the quiet, respectful kind that isn't boastful or in your face. I think that's how most Americans feel."

They're all silent. Josh, CJ, Toby and Sam are grinning. Mandy rolls her eyes.

"To old-time religion," Sam says, raising his beer.

We all clink bottles.

Josh stands. "Anybody need anything?"

I wonder if his Levis are custom-made.

"I'll have one," CJ says.

"Make that two," Sam replies.

"Me too," Mandy agrees.

"I'll take another Jack Daniels neat, if you're buying," Toby says.  
"I'll need one by the time you get back," I say.

"How the hell am I supposed to carry six drinks?"

"I'll help."

Josh and I walk to the bar together, weaving in and out of the crowd.

"That was good back there," he says.

I smile. "Thank you."

"Are you religious?" he asks. 

I'm not offended by his question, and I think he knew that would be the case. I shrug. "I'm Protestant. My family went to church for the big occasions."

"So that Catholic school girl thing is out of the question?" He smirks.

"Not entirely."

I've made Josh blush. His cheeks are light pink. They almost match the color of his lips.

He orders the six drinks from the bartender. I keep getting hit in the back by people passing by. Noticing this, Josh puts his arm around my waist and pushes me between him and the bar. The sides of our bodies are touching. I can feel the rough denim of his jeans on the back of my leg. His chest is against my shoulder, and it's firmer than I thought it would be. I feel his chest move up and down when he breaths. The side of my right hand is touching his. I look down, and Josh puts his pinky over mine. I swallow hard.

I can feel him looking down at me. I just realized that I licked my lips when I look at him. It's Josh's turn to gulp.

"Here you go," the bartender says. "Keep it on your tab?"

Josh's head flies up. "Yeah. Thanks." He removes his arm from around me and is holding three drinks before I even recover. "Can you grab those?"

I pick up the remaining three bottles and follow him back to our table, trying to regulate my breathing.

We make small talk at the table while watching the returns. It's pretty clear that we'll come in second again, which everyone seems pleased about. We've gained three points, and Josh thinks we'll gain four or five in Iowa. They keep referring to Illinois as "high noon."

Every once in a while, Josh's leg brushes against mine. The first time, he was just shaking his legs as he was speaking, so it just brushed mine. He even apologized. The second time, he was stretching, and his entire leg was touching mine for about ten seconds. The third time, he adjusted the way he was sitting, and he kept his thigh barely pressed against mine for about 30 seconds. 

This time, Josh's whole body is leaning toward me slightly. He's shaking his leg just a little, but we're fully pressed together from ankle to thigh. I don't think I've moved in half an hour.

Josh is on his third beer, and I'm beginning to think he can't handle his liquor. He's telling a story to Sam, who's sitting at the other end of the table. Sam's laughing so hard that CJ started to laugh at Sam. Toby's hiding his grin in his drink. Mandy just excused herself to go to the restroom.

"It's getting pretty bad out there," Mandy says when she returns. "There's about a foot of snow piled up."

We all look toward the window, but we can't see much. The bar has thinned out, but there are still a solid 30 people inside.

"Are you heading out?" Sam asks.

"Yeah." Mandy tightens her scarf. "Josh, are you coming?"

Josh finally removes his leg from mine, and it feels like he's just pulled a blanket away from me.

"I promised Sam that I'd give him a ride," Josh replies, looking at Sam.

Josh is lying. I can tell by the looks he and Sam exchange. It's a very brief look of confusion, but it's there.

"I'm not ready yet," Sam says, recovering nicely.

"Don't stay too long," Mandy says to the entire group. "We're leaving at 9 a.m."

We're all silent as we watch Mandy walk out the door.

CJ puts her head in her hands. "I thought she'd never leave."

I can't help laughing.

"Don't laugh!" She points at me. "You were supposed to save me!"

"Me?"

"Yes!"

"Why me?" I ask.

"Cause that's what women do for each other!"

I'm cracking up at this point. A lot of it has to do with the amount of beer I drank. Josh is laughing too. He puts his leg back against mine, but this time, I push my leg against his, letting him know that I'm glad it's back.

"I could've saved you, CJ," Sam says. "We need some sort of signal."

CJ's hitting the table with her hand and laughing. "Ok, ok, I've got one." She taps the top of her head three times.

"That's your signal?" Sam asks. "It's too obvious. We need something discreet."

Josh and I are so into whatever it is we're doing under the table that we haven't responded to CJ and Sam's signal idea. I put my leg straight out in front of me; one, because it's getting cramped in the same position; and two, because I want to see what he's going to do.

It takes a couple of minutes, but Josh has extended his leg, and he's shaking his foot. It keeps hitting mine.

"Will you stop that?" I ask, giggling.

All eyes are on me now.

"Stop what?" Sam asks.

"Nothing. I was just--" Oh no. I hate my fair skin.

CJ and Toby glance at each other.

"I think it's time to go," Toby says.

"But we're still working on a signal," Sam replies with a puppy-dog face.

"There isn't going to be a signal, Sam." Toby stands and puts on his coat.

Sam helps CJ put on her coat.

Josh and I don't move.

"Josh, are you ok?" CJ asks.

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm just not ready to go yet."

"I thought you were giving Sam a ride home?" CJ asks.

"Sam's riding with Toby," Josh responds.

Toby rolls his eyes.

CJ finally catches on. "Oh, that was cause of Mandy. That was expertly done, mi compadre!" She pats Josh on the head as she scoots around the table.

Toby whispers something in CJ's ear. She nods and shoos him away.

"Sam!" Toby calls from the front of the bar.

Sam looks at Toby, then at Josh. "Be careful getting back to the hotel. If you need a ride, call me."

"I will, buddy." They shake hands.

I'm terribly relieved that they made up after their blow up this morning.

When they're gone, I realize that it's just Josh, me and about 10 other people.

"You want another beer?" He asks, standing.

"I better not." I lower my head.

He puts out his hand. I look at it. "What are you doing?"

He motions his head toward a booth. I take his hand, and he leads me to a booth about 15 feet away. Just holding Josh's hand for five seconds has my heart racing.

I scoot deep in the half-circle booth, and he scoots next to me.

He motions for the bartender to come to our table. Neither of us needs any more to drink.

"Josh," I say, putting a hand on his arm. I hope he knows what I'm telling him.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asks.

"Can you bring us a pitcher of ice water?" Josh asks.

I smile a toothy smile at him, but I don't think he notices.

***  
Josh and I talk about everything and nothing at all. I tell him about my ex-boyfriend, Tim, who he refuses to call by his name. I've even started calling him "Dr. Freeride" in my mind. I tell him about my parents, my sister and Mrs. Jasper. I tell him that Dr. Mullen introduced me to Josiah Bartlet. Josh says that he's going to send Dr. Mullen a bouquet of flowers. I tell him to send some to Mrs. Jasper while he's at it.

Our bodies gravitate toward each other. Our legs, arms and hands touch every once in a while, but it's not intense. It's soft and gentle and innocent. I don't think I'd be touching Toby or Sam this way, but it's still pretty innocent.

At first, Josh tells me about his SAT scores, his Fulbright Scholarship and his life at Harvard and Yale. He talks about his time serving as the floor manager for the House minority whip, being Chief of Staff for Congressman Earl Brennan and his three years in the Senate. He doesn't say much about working for Senator John Hoynes.

It isn't until much later that Josh tells me about his father's cancer.

"They found it when he went for his physical," he says, looking down at the table. "My father felt fine, so he claimed that they were just running a few tests."

"How long ago?" I ask.

"Two months," Josh responds. He's bending a red cocktail straw with his fingers.

"Is it terminal?" I don't want to ask, but if this is the way to help Josh, I'll do it.

He shrugs. "He's going through his first round of chemo this week."

I wonder if Josh knows that his posture is slumped. I run a hand over his back.

"You're probably bombarded with stories from friends about their loved ones surviving cancer," I start, still rubbing his back. I can see him starting to relax. "But I have an uncle and a girlfriend who both had cancer. They're still alive and doing well."

Josh sits up straight and looks at me. I remove my hand from his back.

"Leo's the only one who knows." His eyes are incredibly sad. It's hard looking at this man who's always so full of life and energy, now completely deflated.

"What about Mandy?"

He huffs. "No."

I squeeze his forearm, then rub it lightly. "I won't tell anyone." I'm looking down.

"I didn't think you would," he says. He puts his hand on top of mine. "It's not that I want it to be a secret." He shrugs. "I just didn't tell anyone."

I pull Josh into a hug, and it surprises me how hard he's holding on to me. I feel his soft curls on my neck and his strong hands on my back. He pulls back slowly. His hands rest on my face for a moment. I think we swallow at the same time. He puts his forehead against mine, and I close my eyes.

"Thank you." I barely hear him.

"Anytime," I say, just as low as he did.

He squeezes my shoulders, then releases me. "We should go."

I nod. When I look at my watch, I see that it's 1:50 a.m.

A bell rings behind the bar. "Last call!"

Josh helps me put on my coat, then directs me to the front door with his hand at the small of my back. 

I have no idea where I'm going tonight.


	6. Part Six: Soft

When we step outside, it's like a winter wonderland. Snow is falling lightly and the streets are covered with it. It looks like it'll be ok to drive though.

I pull my scarf tighter around my neck and jog to catch up with Josh. "Where the hell did you park?" I ask.

"Over here," he responds, pointing to the left. He realizes that I'm a few steps behind him, so he stops.

"Get lost?" His voice is muffled by his scarf over his mouth.

"I had to fix my scarf."

He grabs my gloved hand with his bare one. Instead of holding it like he did when he took me to the bar booth, he entwines our fingers. We walk briskly one more block to his car.

As soon as we're both inside, Josh starts the engine and puts the heat on full-blast. It smells like cologne and leather. His radio is also on full-blast. It's Lionel Richie's "Easy." 

"Sorry." He lowers the volume.

"I love this song!" I turn the volume a little louder and sing a few lines. I'll be the first to admit that I cannot carry a tune.

Josh laughs in between blowing on his hands to get them warmer.

I take his hands in mine and rub them vigorously. "Any better?"

"A little," he says, smiling.

I bring them to my mouth and blow on his fingers just as he was doing. Josh swallows hard and watches me. He moves his hands around as if he was in front of a fire, but they remain cupped. His fingers glide against my damp lips. 

"Warmer?" I ask. I know he can feel the vibration when I speak.

"Yeah." His voice is gravelly. He doesn't move his hands.

I stop blowing hot air, but my mouth remains slightly open. He traces my lips with two of his fingers. I close my mouth when he goes around them once, and just the pad of his index finger gets caught between my lips.

When I'm able to focus a bit better, I notice that we've fogged up the windows.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

"We should leave."

"Mmm hmm."

There's a short pause.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?" At least I got a full word out of him this time.

"It's snowing harder," I try.

"Kay." He turns in his seat and puts the car in gear. I hear him exhale.

"Just drop me off at the office," I say.

"Why?"

"Cause that's where I'm staying tonight." I touch my lips, and hope he doesn't notice.

"Like hell you are."

"Josh, don't be ridiculous. It's not dangerous!" I'm fully facing him now.

"You're the one being ridiculous, Donna!" He's gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

"Then where am I sleeping?" I fold my arms.

"You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the floor." His voice is less stern.

"We can't do that, Josh." I look at my lap.

"Why not?"

Does he honestly not get it?

"Because!"

"'Because' is not an answer," he says.

"Because people will talk." I pull off my gloves. My hands are sweating.

"People don't have to know!" He raises one hand off the wheel.

"It's not a good idea." My voice is lower now.

He looks at me. "It's not like we're having sex, Donna!"

Just the mention of that word sends shivers down my spine and blood to my face. I see that Josh is similarly affected. He clenches his jaw tightly and does the same to the steering wheel.

We don't say another word in the five minutes it takes to get to the Manchester Inn. He finds a parking place, and gets out. He doesn't even look back to see if I'm behind him. I think he knows I'll be there.

When we get to his room, he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. This is the longest we've gone without speaking since I've known him. He goes into the bathroom and emerges a few minutes later in gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He smells like mint toothpaste.

While Josh is folding his sweatshirt and jeans, I go into the bathroom to change clothes and wash my face. I put on the most conservative pajamas I own, which are red flannel. When I walk back into the bedroom, Josh is lying on a blanket on the floor.

"That's unacceptable," I say.

He stares up at me.

"It's fine, Donna. Go to sleep. We have to get up in four hours." He throws an arm over his eyes.

I notice the underside of Josh's arm. His arms are amazing. The skin looks soft, but he's got incredible muscle definition in his biceps. His white shirt has risen up just a bit, and I see about two inches of his stomach. There's a trail of golden-brown hair leading into his pants. I think I whimper.

"What?" Josh asks.

"I didn't say anything." I guess it was audible.

"Good night."

"You're not sleeping on the floor."

"Where do you expect me to sleep?" He removes his arm from his eyes.

"That's it!" I take him by the wrists and literally drag him across the floor.

"DONNA!" At first he's shocked, then he starts laughing.

The hardwood floor makes it easy to drag him. When I get Josh to the other side of the bed, I pull him up by his wrists. "Come on."

"Ow!"

"You think that hurts?" I ask. "If you sleep on the floor, I'll step on your face when I have to go to the bathroom."

"I don't know what hurts more," he says, recuperating from the laughter and my brute strength. "My stomach or my wrists."

He climbs into the bed, and I turn off the light. I climb into the other side, out of breath. His words from earlier ring in my head: "It's not like we're having sex."

***  
I wake up at some point when it's still dark outside to find Josh and I completely entangled. One of his arms is under my pillow, and the other one is slung across my back. His hand lies flat against the broad surface. Our legs form a sort of sandwich. Our heads are the farthest things apart. His is leaning back on his pillow, and mine is tucked into my neck. I think Josh is snoring.

I don't want to move, but my left leg is falling asleep. I carefully pick it up from between his hairy legs, and Josh stirs.

"Hmm?" It's more of a sound than a question.

There's just enough light coming through the window for me to see his face. His eyes open. I don't move.

He smiles and pulls my body to his. "Donna."

My entire body is on fire. I still don't move, and I think that makes Josh nervous. He pulls back.

When he brushes a piece of hair behind my ear, I moan.

As if that's enough encouragement, he pulls me back toward him and runs his hands on my back. Almost every part of our bodies is pressed against each other. When I find the strength to move, I begin rubbing Josh's back even lighter than he's rubbing mine.

The ache I feel is palpable.

"We have to get up in two hours," he whispers.

"Mmm hmm."

"What's wrong, Donna? Can't talk?" I think he's smirking. 

I lift my head to confirm it. "I don't want to talk."

His face is so close to mine. Just one more inch.

His fingers rub my wrist and go as far as they can up my long sleeves, which is just to my elbow. He's not looking at my face any more. Now, my neck has captured his attention.

I move one of my hands to his arm, which I've been dying to touch since I met the man. I concentrate on the way his short hairs feel on the pads of my fingers, and the way his bicep rolls under my palm. I squeeze his upper arm, and his hips buck.

I grin. "Now who can't talk?" I ask him in my best seductive voice.

I think Josh just growled. His head sinks to the spot where my neck meets my chest, and I feel his lips there. Instinctively, I pull his head closer.

"Josh." I sigh. My chest is heaving up and down as his tongue and lips focus on that one small area.

One of Josh's hands is on my waist, and his thumb has found its way underneath my flannel shirt. It's amazing that he's doing both of these things to my body at once. His fingers slide to meet his thumb one by one. Now he's caressing my side and moving toward my stomach.

"You're so soft," he says.

I know he can feel the vibrations of my moans.

He pulls his head up to look at me. He looks astonished. We're both breathing heavily.

“If that's what being with you is like and we haven't even kissed, I think I'll die if we ever have sex."

I smile. Josh releases me and turns on his back. He exhales and rubs his face.

We both know this can't go any further right now. He turns me around so that my back is to his chest. I feel his erection on my butt, but I don't move against it. He's not pressing it into me, but I think he wants me to know what I did to him.

Our breathing steadies. The only thing I regret is that we didn't kiss on the mouth. I could've kissed him, but there's something about waiting.

"You're amazing," he whispers in my ear.

It takes another 45 minutes before I drift off to sleep.

***  
When I wake up at 6:30 a.m., I hear the shower running. My hand goes to the spot on my neck where Josh's mouth was just hours ago. I feel my pulse beneath my fingers, and I wonder if Josh felt it last night.

"Morning," he says, stepping out of the bathroom. He doesn't look me in the eyes, appearing a bit shy. A tuft of steam follows him. He's wearing a towel low around his waist. Before Josh puts on a t-shirt, I get a quick glimpse of his pectoral muscles, which are well-defined. There's just a trace of golden hair on his chest. As usual, I'm captivated by this man's arms, which look even better in the light streaming through the window. Josh's stomach, from what I could tell, is smooth and flat. His hipbones catch my eye as does the line of hair beneath his belly button. There's a bulge that I won't pretend to ignore just under the surface of his ivory towel.

"Morning." I smile and pull the covers over my shoulders. I'm suddenly self-conscious. "I'm getting my own room today." 

Josh's face falls just a little, but he recovers quickly. "You're going to Illinois today."

My eyes open wide. "I am?"

He looks at me with a serious expression. "I need you."

The double entendre isn't lost on me. We look at each other for mere seconds before Josh speaks.

"I'm working on agriculture with Toby and Sam," he says, pulling a gray long-sleeved shirt over his head. "I need you to finish the education report for California, then make some calls about the Chicago fundraiser." He slips on his Levi's. 

I will never tire of seeing the way he fills out those jeans.

Josh removes the towel from his waist once his jeans are completely buttoned. He dries his head, then throws the towel toward the bathroom. As calm and collected as he's acting, I have a feeling that he's nervous about this – about us. He avoids looking at me as much as possible and flutters around the room gathering everything he'll need for the day.

I smile at him.

"What?" he asks.

"Your hair," I say.

"What about it?" He looks at himself in the mirror.

"I like it that way," I respond shyly.

He turns to me. "It's a mess!"

I sit up. "I know."

I pad barefooted into the bathroom. As I shower, I wonder what Josh thinks about last night. Was it a one-time deal? Is it just a physical connection? Does he regret it?

"Who's hosting the fundraiser?" I ask over the light roar of the bathroom fan.

No answer.

"Josh?" I put on my pink blouse, then step into the bedroom.

He's gone. I look around the room. His towel is still on the floor, and his sweatpants are hanging over the desk chair. On the desk, there's a piece of paper in the same place where Josh left the note yesterday morning.

_Donnatella,_

_Even with a 760 verbal, words fail me._

_Joshua_

My breath catches in my throat. I release a long sigh. This is definitely going to be an issue.

***  
The sun is shining brightly this morning, and the glare from the snow is nearly blinding. The air smells so fresh that I decide to walk the mile and a half to work. My car is still at the office anyway, and I have a suitcase already packed in there to take to Illinois.

It takes me a solid 20 minutes to get to the campaign headquarters, but it gives me time to think.

As I expected, my thoughts are filled with Josh. I think about my drive to Manchester and how I imagined what he would look like, smell like, and feel like. I wondered how old he was, and if he'd been in politics for a long time. I wondered if he'd be as cocky as he sounded in his radio interview. Now, a little over a week later, I have answers to all of these questions.

When I walk into the cacophony of the office, I hear phrases like "high noon" and "all the marbles" and "this is it" and "Donnatella Moss!"

Does he really have to bellow like that? Still, I smile at his use of my full name.

"Hi." I'm grinning.

Josh walks briskly through the office, and I follow. He hands me a binder. "The contact names and numbers are inside. There should be a room layout and a menu somewhere in there too."

I flip through the binder as we continue walking.

"There are two guest lists. One is alphabetical, and the other is by contribution amount." We turn a corner. "Last time, we had some trouble with the audio, but CJ assured me that she's taken care of it. The name of the AV guy is in there just in case."

We get to Josh's office, and he flips through some files on his desk while continuing to talk to me about the items in the binder.

I love watching Josh like this. I'm reminded of something he told me the day we met: "This is a campaign for the presidency. There is nothing I take more seriously than that."

I think that was the moment that defined him in my mind – at least this side of him.

Josh is still rambling about the logistics of the fundraiser, which I'm not really paying attention to at this point. After every sentence, he says, "It's in the binder." So I figure I'll just look through it later. The first thing I need to do is organize the damn thing. I need to find some colored tabs.

"Got it?" he finally asks.

"Yes," I say. Well, I got the gist of it anyway. "Is that all?"

He nods, then walks out the door. "We're on the bus at 9!" He calls back to me.

Minutes later, I'm throwing a bag over my shoulder and lifting my suitcase into the storage compartment underneath the bus. There are only five people on the bus so far, all sitting toward the back. I walk to join them, but I feel a tug on my wrist.

"Where are you going?" Josh whispers.

"To the back, where I always sit."

"Stay here."

Josh doesn't do very well with requests, I've noticed. Nevertheless, I squeeze into the seat by the window with an exaggerated huff, and he plops down next to me. We aren't sitting for long before he starts digging through his backpack. I begin organizing the fundraiser binder with my colored tabs and ball-point pen.

I learn that Mandy, Toby, Leo and the Governor have flown to Chicago already for some press engagements. We're stopping in Buffalo tonight for a dinner hosted by the Buffalo Democratic Women's Society. CJ is the guest speaker. She's been buried in her notes the entire time we've been on the road.

Josh is deep in conversation with Sam about the Governor's education plan, while I'm on the phone with headquarters and the fundraising committee in Chicago.

"Even with aggressive affirmative action policies, colleges never achieve a critical mass of minority students," Josh says. He's pacing in the narrow aisle.

"How do they achieve diversity if they don't lower their admission standards for ethnic minorities?" Sam asks.

"That's the mystery." CJ shrugs without looking up. She's still engrossed in her notes.

"The pipeline is the problem," I say. 

They all look at me. Even CJ lifts her head.

"There aren't enough qualified minority students to attend college." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Do you know how many African-American students had a 3.0 GPA and a 21 or better on the ACT this year?"

Josh is staring at me with raised eyebrows.

"Two and a half percent! Eighty-five percent of white students had those qualifications. How can a black student compete with that?" I shrug. "The problem is the pipeline."

"How do you know this stuff?" Josh asks.

"I read a lot."

He grins at me.

"I guess what Donna's saying is that we need to prepare minority students for college before high school," Sam says, adjusting in his seat.

"It needs to start in elementary school. We need better education for these kids when they're six or seven years old." CJ is now completely involved in the conversation. "I think that's a key message we need to put out there."

Sam starts writing furiously.

Josh turns to me. "You got any more of that stuff in there?"

"You have no idea." I smile.

Josh starts helping Sam with some talking points. I close my eyes. When they need a statistic, I throw one out there. Josh tells me to confirm the numbers when we get to Buffalo.

My mind drifts away from the political realm as I fall asleep. As much as I don't want to, I need to call my parents. Since we'll be in Chicago, only two hours from Madison, I think I'll call them from the hotel. I'll tell them that I'm working for the Democratic Party. They'll ask me why I didn't volunteer in Madison. They'll ask me how much I'm getting paid, but they won't offer me any financial help. The one question that I'll want them to ask, which they won't, is if I'm happy.

I think about that question. I feel Josh next to me without needing to open my eyes. He's leaning forward as he explains something to Sam in the front row. I feel his socked foot between mine. He taps it occasionally, and I feel the heat and the friction of his pants cuff against my foot.

Even in the stage between wakefulness and sleep, I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I am happy. I'm the happiest I've been in a long time.

***  
When we arrive in town, we go directly to the Buffalo Women's Center for the dinner. It's a beautiful glass-front building with peach stucco. A few prominent women's rights activists are there. 

I'm surprised at my mingling capabilities. I know a fair share about feminism and theology from a class I took in college, so I stick to that topic as much as possible. I can also talk about a woman's right to choose with the best of them.

I've seen Josh occasionally tonight, but he's rarely in the same place longer than five minutes. CJ told him that if he misbehaved tonight or made any lewd remarks, she'd kick his ass. I rather enjoyed watching his face scrunch up.

The dinner was a huge success. I've admired CJ for quite some time, but after her speech tonight, she blew me away. She has poise and grace and a wealth of knowledge. She knows how to capture an audience. I get goose bumps thinking about how much I'm going to learn from this woman.

***  
The hotel we're staying at pales in comparison to the Marriotts and Sheratons of the world, but it's comfortable and inexpensive. It's 11 p.m. by the time we check in, but I'm in desperate need of a bath. I left Josh in the lobby with CJ and two volunteers, so I figure he won't come barging in for at least 30 minutes.

The bathroom isn't as grand as the one in Charleston, but it's sufficient. I turn the radio on to a classical music station and relax in the tub with my head against the porcelain.

I think about last night. Despite the warm temperature of the water, I shiver. Josh and I shared a bed. He kissed my neck and touched my body. His hands were slow and steady. He seemed content just exploring my back. Nothing about our union was rushed or frantic. It was as if we'd done it a million times.

Then there was the note. "Even with a 760 verbal, words fail me." I didn't expect that from Josh. I didn't expect him to even acknowledge last night. He hasn't said anything about it today, which I figured he wouldn't, but he wrote that one sentence this morning that still makes me smile.

I don't know if or when Josh and I will be together like that again. After all, he's still with Mandy. 

Those two just don't seem to fit. As hard as it is to think about, I'd imagine their sex to be awkward and needy. It would be a means to an end. With Josh and me, if it ever happens, it would be slow and comfortable, yet electric.

My fingers are pruning, so I dry off and wrap a towel around my body. I turn the music down a bit and shuffle through my luggage for pajamas.

"Leo has some questions about the Illinois education thing."

"Josh!" I turn around and cover my towel-clad body with my arms. "Don't you know how to knock?"

He's grinning. "I know how to knock, yes."

The nerve of this man! I look at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Leo has questions," he repeats. His eyes haven't left my chest.

"I'm up here, Josh." I point to my face.

"Yeah." His grin widens.

We look at each other for a moment. He has on gray cotton shorts and a black t-shirt. He's not wearing shoes or socks. It would be so easy for me to jump him right now. Instead, I go to the bathroom with my pajamas in hand.

"Leo wants to know the percentage of students at the University of Illinois whose families have an income over $100,000," he yells through the wall.

"Forty percent," I respond.

"Are you making that up?" I think he's smirking.

"No. I remember the statistic. The university is the state's flagship school. It was designed to help all Illinois residents afford a college education, yet 40 percent of the students come from families who make over $100,000 annually."

I walk out of the bathroom, and as expected, Josh is right outside the door.

"And you made fun of _my_ hair?" He asks.

I step back in the bathroom to look in the mirror. My hair is soaking wet and sticking to my head. I dry it with the towel. There's just no way it's going to look good without proper attention. To hell with it, I'd rather talk to Josh than fix my hair.

"I didn't make fun of your hair," I tell him, moving further into the bedroom. "I said that I liked it better when it was messy."

He eyes me and opens his mouth to say something. Nothing comes out.

"Ninety-eight percent of students in Georgia get a free education at state universities because of the HOPE program," I say, directing the conversation back to work. "Louisiana, Florida and New Mexico have similar programs."

I pull the covers back on my bed, but Josh is sitting on the edge, which makes it impossible for me to unmake it properly.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to move." I point to the bedspread.

Instead, he reaches a hand to my thigh and pulls me in front of him. He looks up at my face and gently rubs the back of my right leg. I'm surprised that I'm able to remain upright.

"Even Pell grants are being taken away from low income kids," he says.

I step closer. My arms are at my sides, and my fingertips barely touch his forearms.

"Did you know that the top one percent of the wealthiest Americans' income has risen 200 percent over the last ten years?" I ask in a more husky voice than I intended. 

Josh has one hand on each of my legs. He runs his fingertips from the back of my knee to my upper thigh. When he uses his entire hand, I'm forced directly between his legs. I place my right hand on his shoulder and my left one on his arm.

"The rich get richer," he responds in a low voice.

"And the poor get poorer. Forget college. These people don't even have the money for a solid kindergarten education." I'm surprised that I'm still able to form coherent sentences.

Josh's head is inches away from my breasts. One of his hands continues to rub the back of my thigh, but the other has moved to the front. When he moves one hand up, the other goes down. I feel like I'm being hypnotized.

My hands have started a rhythm of their own. I allow my fingertips to travel beneath his short sleeves. I use my fingernails to rake down Josh's biceps.

"We need to start with pre-school." His right hand is now gathering my pajama top into a fist. "We start with pre-school, then work our way up."

I press my shins into the mattress, trying to get closer to Josh. He scoots forward and bends his head. Both of his hands are on my hips, raising my top just high enough to expose a few inches above my belly button.

One of my hands has gone to the back of his head. I love the way his curls feel between my fingers and on my palm.

"Yes," I say. "Work our way up."

With that, his mouth is hot against my stomach. He pulls my skin between his lips and grazes it with his teeth. My knees give out. Josh quickly puts a hand behind my leg to steady me. He dips his tongue into my navel, and I moan. His free hand runs from my stomach to my back, which forces my pajama top to catch on his nose. He doesn't have much uncovered skin to work with, but I don't think he minds.

Both of my hands settle on the back of Josh's neck. I pull him closer to my body by his ears. He makes these small guttural sounds that make me whimper. Each time I do, his right hand moves further down my back until it sits on my ass. I can feel the heat through my thin cotton shorts. His right hand remains still while his left hand travels up the inside of my thigh.

"Maybe we should start sex education in middle school," I say.

"Mmm hmm." 

It's hard to believe the sensations I'm feeling when Josh is concentrating on a mere four inches of my stomach. His tongue and teeth pull gently at my skin, and I know it's going to leave a mark.

"And we can continue it into high school," I say again.

He looks up at me. "Do you always talk this much?"

I think he's actually turned on by my talking.

"What's wrong?" I ask, lifting his chin with my index finger. "Did I steal your verbal thunder?"

His smirk widens into a full-blown smile. I trace his dimple with my finger, then slide my finger toward his mouth. He puts the pad of my finger between his lips and touches it with his tongue. Josh's hands begin to move again. The one on my ass squeezes just a little. The one on my inner thigh traces patterns on my skin.

He releases my finger and looks up and down my body. His expression is serious.

I run a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes. I bend to kiss his forehead. Josh moans, then moves his hands again. I can't possibly get any closer to him because the mattress is in the way, but he pulls me anyway.

"We're leaving at 6 a.m." I whisper.

His eyes are still closed and his head is thrown back. "I know."

"Tomorrow's a big day."

"Mmm hmm."

I love this man's Adam's apple. I want to kiss it so badly, but I know we need to reel things in a bit.

He opens his eyes. "If we take Illinois, there's a good chance we'll be working for the Democratic presidential nominee."

Both of our smiles grow wider.

Josh throws his arms around me and hugs me tightly. "The presidency, Donna."

"I have a feeling about this," I respond, rubbing his back.

He pulls back and looks into my eyes. "Me too."

***  
I wake up in the morning and smell Josh's soapy, masculine scent. Before opening my eyes, I reach for him. I'm half wondering if he's already gone, but I'm pleasantly surprised when my hand comes into contact with his body. I know we shouldn't be doing this, but it's become a need.

I open my eyes to find Josh staring at me with his head propped on his elbow.

"Morning." His voice is thick.

"Morning." A smile is tugging at my lips, but Josh's serious expression keeps it from developing further.

He pulls my body into his and lets out a deep sigh. I see that he's still wearing his t-shirt and gray shorts, which reminds me that we didn't have sex. We still haven't even kissed on the lips.

"Are you ok?" I ask. My head is buried in his chest.

"Yeah." He pulls back to look at my face and swallows hard. "I just like waking up with you more than I should." His voice nearly cracks.

My eyes become glassy.

Josh brushes my hair behind my ear and runs a finger down the side of my face. His puts his palm flat against my cheek as he moves closer. His thumb rubs the soft spot just below my eye. I lick my lips. Seconds later, I feel Josh's lips on mine. A bolt of electricity shoots through my body and settles in the pit of my stomach.

His lips are softer and thicker than I imagined them to be. They're perfectly wet. When I coax him closer with my hand on his arm, he moans. I've never experienced the sensation I'm feeling now, even when I had what I thought was the best sex of my life in 1993. That pales in comparison to kissing Josh.

He moves his mouth leisurely over mine. I can hear the little sucking sounds when he changes the angle. He hasn't used his tongue, but I think I'd have an orgasm if he did. Josh pulls back slowly and looks at me.

My head moves toward him again like I'm chasing his mouth. I capture his bottom lip and apply gentle pressure with my teeth. Josh moans. 

This could very easily turn into something too hefty for us to handle right now. He's still with Mandy. He's my boss. We're trying to win a national election. The timing couldn't be worse.

Josh pulls away from me and presses two fingers against my lips. I know Josh is thinking it too.

"We have to go," he says.

I nod. I don't think I could speak now to save my life.

He runs his hand over my head, then kisses it as he crawls over me and out of the bed. When he gets to the adjoining door, he stops and looks back at me. "I really like waking up with you."

His smile is enough to kill me. When he's gone, I throw my head on my pillow and cover my face with my hands. I don't think I'll stop smiling at all today.


	7. Part Seven: Verbal Thunder

The bus ride to Chicago is stressful. CJ, Sam and Josh are trying to hammer down some final points for the fundraiser, while I talk to the guys in charge. Josh hardly speaks to me, but I'm well aware of where his mind is during the day. He's in constant motion. If he's not pacing, he's tapping his foot or troubling his bottom lip. And he rarely stops talking about political strategy. Surprisingly, I find it pretty easy to work during the day as well. I'm only distracted by Josh when he does something sexy, like hold a pen between his fingers.

By the time we make it to the city, everyone looks exhausted. We check in to the hotel and quickly change clothes for tonight's event.

I promised Josh that I'd be in the ballroom by 7 p.m.

"You look beautiful."

I turn around to see Sam holding two glasses of champagne.

"Thank you, Sam. So do you." I take a glass.

The men are in tuxedos, and the women are in gowns. I'm wearing the one formal dress that I own, which is a simple black satin dress with spaghetti straps. It doesn't measure up to any of the gowns in the room.

"We haven't talked much lately," he says, pulling a chair out for me.

"We've been busy."

"Not so busy that we couldn't make time to chat." He shrugs.

"You're right, Sam," I respond, touching his sleeve. "We need to make time."

He smiles and nods. "Your education report has gotten rave reviews."

"Really?" I ask. "From whom?"

"Leo. The Governor." He takes a sip of champagne. "I think Mandy even mentioned that the statistics were helpful."

I blush and look at my hands in my lap. "It was nothing."

Sam drops his head to catch my eyes. "It was definitely something."

"What a lovely frock, Donna!" CJ says, approaching the table. "Don't you think the word 'frock' should be used more often?"

"I do," Sam says, turning to look at her.

CJ's wearing a mauve gown that looks custom-made. She has a string of pearls around her neck and a matching bracelet. Her hair is up in a twist.

I stand to greet her. "CJ, you look magnificent."

"Thank you. So do you." She raises her glass, and we toast.

I'm embarrassed by my plain black dress. I don't feel like I belong here. I definitely don't deserve compliments.

"I guess I need to buy a more appropriate gown," I say.

"Don't be ridiculous, Donna. You look elegant," CJ replies.

"An elegant frock," Sam says. He tilts his head in contemplation. "I think the word 'frock' will be just fine if we leave it in the 19th century."

CJ and I smile.

"Josh was looking for you," she says casually.

I gulp. "He was?"

"He said he needed the polling numbers." CJ takes a sip of champagne and scans the room. "Don't let him run you into the ground, Donna. Enjoy yourself tonight. Make him wait."

"I work for him, CJ. I should get those numbers." I squeeze Sam's arm, then walk away. I feel both sets of eyes staring at me.

***  
The room is packed with people. The jazz band is a bit too loud, so I tell the bassist that they need to be a little more mellow. 

I go to the hotel business center to see if Lewis at headquarters has faxed the polling data yet. The man in charge tells me that a fax came for me, but he delivered it to my room.

If I'm away from the fundraiser for too long, people will notice, and God knows what they'll think. I'm being paranoid. Regardless, I go quickly to my room to retrieve the fax.

I thought they'd just slide the fax under the door, but it's not there. I go into the room and look on the dresser and the desk. Huh. I lift the room service menu, look on the top of the television, and pull out the desk chair. The fax is nowhere to be found.

"Looking for this?"

I turn to see Josh standing with his legs crossed, leaning against the door frame. If I thought the man looked delicious in Levis, he looks irresistible in a tuxedo.

"You scared me." My hand flies to my chest.

Josh walks into the room, and the door shuts behind him. I don't think he's even blinked yet.

"I went to the business center to see if the polling numbers arrived," I start. He's walking toward me slowly, and my breathing becomes irregular. "And the man told me that a fax came for me."

"I have it," he whispers, holding the fax up, then dropping it on the bed. Now, he's standing in front of me.

"Good, because CJ told me that you were looking for me and--"

His hand is on my shoulder. He touches the satin spaghetti strap with his index finger and thumb, then pulls it down. He rubs the spot where the strap was.

I'm nearly out of breath. "She said you were looking for me and--"

"And what?" He's smirking.

"And." I swallow. "And I forgot what else."

Now his smile extends nearly to his ears. "Weren't we talking about 'verbal thunder' recently, Donnatella?"

He's teasing me. If I can recover just enough to turn him down, I'll be terribly pleased with myself. But I really don't want to turn him down.

"Yes," I reply, pulling my strap back in place and crossing my arms. "I believe I stole your verbal thunder last night, actually."

He pulls the strap back down and kisses my shoulder. "Before I met you, I don't think anyone had ever rendered me utterly speechless," he whispers.

I can smell the faint scent of Hennessey on his breath. 

He spends about a minute kissing the same spot on my shoulder. I've noticed an intense concentration when Josh kisses me. He never allows his lips to stray far from where they begin. I think that if it was me kissing his shoulder, I would ravish his entire arm and neck. But not him. He takes his time on that one spot.

"Josh?"

"Yes?" His voice is gentle, yet sexy.

"I might need to sit down."

He looks up and smirks. 

"Actually, as much as it pains me to say it, we should get back downstairs," I say.

"But it's more fun upstairs," he says, leaning in to kiss my neck.

"I won't disagree with that." I moan, and I feel his smile on my neck. Josh seems quite pleased with himself tonight. "But we're trying to, you know, win an election here."

He kisses my ear and whispers, "I never thought anything would be more important to me than that."

I pull back and look at him. His expression is serious, but his eyes are, I don't know, joyous.

Just when tears start to form in my eyes, I hear a knock on the door.

He turns his head. "Who is that?"

"I don't know, Josh. My x-ray vision is failing me right now." I squint.

"You're funny." He walks to the door and opens it. 

I wonder if he forgot that he's in my room, answering _my_ door.

"Hey, CJ. What's up?"

CJ looks at Josh, then me. "What's going on in here?"

I adjust my dress strap and swallow hard. "Nothing."

"I just came to get the fax," Josh stutters, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

"The polling numbers," I say.

"Yes, the polling numbers that are on the fax."

"Oh, God!" CJ puts her hand on her forehead. "Can I see you for a minute?"

He steps outside, and I can't help it: I eavesdrop. I wouldn't have to if my idiot boss could keep a straight face and speak without stuttering.

"CJ, it's not what you think," Josh begins. "We were just--"

I picture CJ putting her hand up to silence him. "Right now, I'm not thinking anything. At least nothing I want to share." She sighs. "Mandy's looking for you."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Ok. I was just getting the polling data. And Donna was showing me--"

"I'm warning you now, Joshua. Stop right there."

"I'll be down in a minute." I can imagine him with his hands on his hips, shaking his leg.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

"If you hurt her, I'll break your arms."

Josh doesn't respond. I wonder if he's scared. In fact, I'm sure that he is. He's been frightened of CJ for as long as I've known him. 

My smile widens. CJ likes me enough to break Josh's arms.

I hear the door knob turn, so I quickly retreat into the bathroom.

"Donna?"

"I'm in here," I call. I splash cold water on my face. I needed that.

"I'm heading back down. I'll meet you there."

"Ok," I respond.

When I'm sure that he's left the room, I sit on the toilet lid with a thud. On the one hand, I love this thing that Josh and I are beginning. On the other hand, we've been careless. There's no way I'm going to risk a sex scandal at this point in the game. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I'd risk that. As much as I want Josh, I won't let him ruin his career by sleeping with me.

How could I have been on top of the world just minutes ago? Josh just proved that he has a lousy poker face. He can't lie. 

We can't do this. Even if Mandy wasn't in the picture; I work for Josh. If any of this got into the wrong hands, we'd be screwed. 

Suddenly, I'm not feeling much like partying tonight.

***  
Josh and I don't have adjoining rooms at this hotel. If we did, I'm sure he would've barged in long ago. I must've fallen asleep some time ago because my pillow is wet with drool. I sit up and look at the clock: 4:30. For a second, I wonder if that's a.m. or p.m. I look out the window and see darkness. 

Shit! It's 4:30 a.m., which means that I've been sleeping since 9:30 p.m. I didn't go back to the fundraiser. Josh is going to kill me.

I look at the phone, and the message light is on.

Message one, 9:50 p.m.: "Donna, it's Josh. You have to try the vanilla custard. Sam says it's to die for!"

Message two, 9:52 p.m.: "Donna, it's Sam. Josh was mistaken. It's not vanilla custard; it's flan. There's also chocolate mousse and crème brûlée. You might like the raspberry tart as well. I'll save you one of each."

I put my hand on my chest. Who wouldn't adore Sam?

Message three, 10:14 p.m.: "Before you get down here, I have to apologize. There were four desserts on a table with a napkin over them. I ate them. I ate all of them. I thought Sam was being nice by saving them for me because I was involved in a horrible conversation with a man named Smitty. That's his real name, by the way. Anyway, I ate your dessert. Where are you? If you haven't guessed, this is CJ."

I smile.

Message four, 10:20 p.m.: "Where the hell are you? If you're not down here in 15 minutes, I'm coming up there. You're gonna miss the Governor's speech. Toby'll kill you."

Oh no.

Message five, 11:40 p.m.: "I did everything but pound on your door." Josh's voice sounds deflated. "You're either sleeping or not there. Or you're there, but you're pissed at me." There's a long pause. "Is this about us?" He whispers. "Call me when you get this. I'm in room 705."

I take a deep breath. If I wait another hour and a half, Josh will be awake and we can talk. I'll apologize for missing most of the fundraiser. I'll ignore the question about us. I'll pretend everything is fine.

Or should I call him now? He did tell me to call him when I got the message. I glance at the clock: 4:38 a.m. 

Josh, I determine, needs sleep.

***  
I take a shower, read the newspaper and check Josh's messages at headquarters - all before 6 a.m. At 6:45, I go downstairs.

"You have no idea what you missed," Sam says, pulling out a chair for me in the hotel restaurant.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I laid down for a minute, and the next thing I knew, it was 4:30 a.m." I nervously brush a piece of hair behind my ear.

"We were wondering what happened."

"Was Josh upset?" I bite my lower lip.

Sam shrugs. "He seemed…disappointed."

I lower my head.

"Speak of the devil," Sam says. "Josh!" He waves his arm.

"Hey." Josh approaches the table but doesn't sit.

"I'm sorry about last night, Josh. I lost track of time," I say. Why am I this nervous?

"Doing what?" he asks.

"Hmm?"

"You lost track of time doing what?" I can't tell if he's mad. His face is almost blank.

I look at my lap, then back up at him. "Sleeping."

He laughs. Josh full-on laughs at me. It's incredibly refreshing. "You lost track of time _sleeping_?"

"What I mean is--" It's useless. Josh is laughing too hard to hear me, and now Sam has joined him.

He sits with Sam and me, and minutes later, Toby joins us. They fill me in on the details of last night. I sip a cup of coffee, enjoying the retelling of events.

"When he got to the end of the speech, there was a rupture of applause." Sam's smile is infectious.

"A 'rupture of applause?' Did they teach you English at Duke?" Toby asks, scratching his head.

"They taught it at Princeton. I went to Duke Law School." Sam wipes his mouth with a napkin.

I think Josh is used to these little outbursts. "It was amazing, Donna. You should've been there."

I love the company of these men. They depend on each other, so in essence, they depend on me. I remind myself that I cannot and will not jeopardize that.

***  
I spend most of the day in the hotel business center. Josh calls me every 20 minutes with a new assignment. I'm now in charge of booking hotel rooms in California, which is a tedious task. Half of the hotels are booked. Some of them are too far away from the Governor's events. I never realized how spread out Los Angeles is.

Josh informed me that if the Governor wins Illinois tonight, it's likely that we won't be back in Manchester for at least 10 days. That reminds me of the limited funds I have, which reminds me that I need to call my parents.

When things slow down around 4 p.m., I call them.

"Hi, Mom. It's Donna."

"Donna! Where have you been?" There's just enough concern in her voice to make it seem like she really cares.

"I'm in Chicago working for the Democratic Party."

"That's nonsense, Donna. You could do that in Madison," she responds.

I take a deep breath. "I'm working for Jed Bartlet, Mom. Remember the guy from New Hampshire?"

"I've seen him on the news. Your father thinks the man is too idealistic. He'll never win."

I lower my head. It's no use explaining anything to her. "Is Dad there?"

"He's at the market," she says. "Where are you staying?"

"I travel a lot."

"Are you homeless, Donna?" She chuckles.

If I don't hang up the phone in less than a minute, I'm going to explode.

"I'm not homeless, Mom. We're traveling to California tomorrow. I'll call you when I can. Tell Dad 'hi.'"

"Be careful, Donna. And don't let that Bartlet man lead you astray."

I hang up the phone with tears in my eyes. Why can't she be proud of me? She makes me feel like such a follower. And to be honest, I don't mind so much her insults to me, but I can't stand that she thinks poorly about the Governor. I hope with all of my being that he wins the Democratic nomination.

***  
Spirits are incredibly high tonight. There are about 30 people in Leo's hotel suite, but he's ordered enough food to feed 100. 

As the returns slowly come in, it's looking more and more like we're going to win this thing. No one is more surprised, yet confident, than Josh. I wish I could spend more time just watching him, but I'm constantly on the phone with headquarters.

The noise in the suite is almost unbearable. I barely hear Josh's cell phone ring.

"Josh Lyman," I answer.

"Hello. Is this Donna?"

"Yes, who's calling?" I step outside and close the balcony door so I can hear better. There was just a major eruption in the room, so I'm guessing they've called the primary in our favor.

"This is Miriam Lyman. Is my son available, dear?" Her voice sounds low and tired.

I look into the room to see hugging and dancing.

"He's tied up at the moment, Mrs. Lyman," I respond. "I think we just won the Illinois primary."

There's a choking sound on her end. "Noah would've loved hearing that."

I must've misunderstood. "I'm sorry. It's loud even out here. You didn't say--"

"Yes. Josh's father passed away." It comes out stronger than I expected.

I'm silent for a moment. My hand flies to my chest. "Mrs. Lyman, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, Donna. Will you have my son call me as soon as possible?"

"Of course." I pause. "You'll be in my prayers."

"Thank you. Take care of my boy."

"I will."

With that, she hangs up, and I hang my head. I have to tell Josh that his father just died while he's celebrating the happiest moment of his life.

When I walk into the room, I see Josh hugging Leo. His smile covers his entire face. He's talking about changing the music to the Doobie Brothers. Then he puts his hands on my arms and tells me to "get happy." He insists that I dance with him. For the first time, I don't think Josh cares what people think about our relationship. Besides, everyone will be celebrating together. Dancing with him wouldn't seem odd. 

This is going to be hell.

"Josh, your father died."

He looks at me like I'm crazy. He stands in the middle of the room, staring straight through me. I walk toward him.

"I just spoke with your mom. She says to call her." I lower my head and feel tears springing to my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Josh." I squeeze his arm.

He finally blinks. "Book me on the first flight to Kennedy." His voice is so low that I barely hear him.

I retrieve his cell phone from the table on the balcony and call Delta. I watch Josh inside. 

He approaches Leo first. Leo puts his hand on Josh's shoulder and tells him something, then he escorts Josh to another room. I can't see or hear what's going on, but it's my understanding that Leo was Noah Lyman's friend. This can't be easy on Leo either.

When Josh emerges from the other room, his eyes are watery.

"You're on the next flight out on Delta," I say.

"Thanks." He gets his backpack and suit jacket.

"Josh, I'll go to the airport with you."

He looks at me. "I need to be alone."

"You really don't," I respond, touching his arm.

"I do, Donna. Thank you for respecting that." He looks at me and clenches his jaw.

Leo brings Josh to the door with his arm around his shoulders. They exchange words, then Leo hugs him. The scene is enough to make me cry.

I am completely torn at this moment. On the one hand, I shouldn't feel this attached to a man I've known for a matter of days. On the other hand, I never felt this connection with Tim in the three years we were together. 

I look around the room and spot Mandy, who seems more interested in the lint on her sweater than her boyfriend's loss. Can't she see the pain in Josh's eyes? He might not shed a tear in public, but how can you miss what's in his eyes?

Minutes later, Leo makes an announcement to the crowd gathered in the suite. "While we're celebrating this victory tonight, let's not forget the people who made it possible for us to be here." He puts his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. "Josh's father passed away tonight. He was a remarkable man." He pauses, looking down for a moment. "Please keep Noah Lyman and his family in your thoughts and prayers."

Everyone lowers his or her head. When I look up, the Governor is whispering something in Leo's ear. I learn later that the Governor insisted upon going to the airport to be with Josh.

We just won the Democratic nomination for the presidency. No one feels much like celebrating.

***  
Hours later, I get a knock on my hotel door.

"I have this bottle of incredibly expensive whiskey, but no glass. I'd drink it straight out of the bottle, but I thought maybe you could help."

"Toby." I'm shocked.

It looks like Toby has already drunk several glasses. His tie is undone, and a corner of his white shirt is untucked. I've never seen him this unkempt.

"Or we could both drink it out of the bottle." He puts the Johnny Walker on the dresser.

I tighten the hotel robe around my body.

Toby pours two glasses of whiskey. "Josh didn't tell anyone that his father was sick."

He looks at me, handing me a glass. "Cancer, was it?"

I nod, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. It burns.

Toby leans against the dresser with his feet crossed at the ankles. He takes another long swig. "He can be an egotistical sonofabitch."

I smile for the first time since 6 p.m.

"But I've never seen a man care more deeply." Toby stares at me.

I take another drink, still not able to speak.

"He's the one who convinced Sam to join the campaign," he says, fiddling with the label on the bottle. "I don't know if we'd be here without Josh."

"I wouldn't be here without Josh," I say.

He looks at me. "I'd deny ever saying this, but he needs you."

"Toby, I--"

He stands, swirling the brown liquid in his glass. "He'll need you in the future." He downs the last of his drink, keeping his eyes on me.

He picks up the bottle, looking to see how much whiskey is left, then sets it back down. "Tell Josh that we're all thinking about him."

"I will," I whisper.

Toby walks to the door, leaving the bottle behind. "I'm here if…" He pauses and puts his head against the door. "I'm here." The door shuts behind him.


	8. Part Eight: The Golden State

I didn't sleep well at all last night, which explains why I wake up on the campaign bus at 3 p.m. I don't even remember getting on the bus. I hear people talking about California. Sam mentions that he's from Orange County. I didn't know that. CJ talks about her years at Berkeley, then in L.A.

"Hi, sleepy head," Sam says.

"Has anyone heard from Josh?" Those are my first groggy words.

"I left him a couple of messages, but he hasn't called back," he responds.

I tell myself to hold off calling him, but if I don't hear from him by 7 tonight, I'll call.

It's a brutal day of travel. We have 30 hours to drive to Sacramento, stopping in three cities along the way - Lincoln, Cheyenne and Salt Lake City. I've coordinated all of the hotels, while CJ, Toby and Mandy coordinated campaign stops.

At 7:30 p.m., I still haven't heard from Josh, so I call him.

As expected, I get his voicemail.

"Hi Josh. It's Donna. I was calling…I just called to...You know, I've rehearsed this a hundred times and I still can't get it right." I put a hand to my forehead and take a deep breath. "We're in the middle of Iowa right now. Someone on the bus thought it would be a good idea to stop for Mexican food. In Iowa." What I hoped to be levity turned out to be a pathetic chuckle. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. "Everyone's thinking about you, Josh. We're all sorry about your dad. I hope your mom is doing well. If there's anything you need, anything at all, call me." I pause. "It's not the same without you."

I hang up and close my eyes. I've only known this man for two weeks, and I'm falling--

"Have you talked to Josh yet?" Mandy disturbs me.

"No," I answer.

"I've left him three important messages. When you talk to him, tell him that I'd appreciate a call back." She walks away.

I can't stand Mandy. I'm sure that her three messages were all work-related. She has no business being with Josh. She doesn't deserve him.

***  
Being on the road this much is killing me. I am in desperate need of a shower, as are most people on the bus. We're close to Cheyenne, which is where we'll stop for the night. I made reservations at the Best Western. A couple of people questioned my choice of hotels, but as long as the Governor isn't with us, I'm thinking economically.

My cell phone rings as the bus pulls up to the hotel.

"Hello?"

"I have 24 messages on my cell phone, only half of which are actual business calls."

I smile. It's Josh.

"Hi!"

"Donna, tell Sam and CJ and whoever else has called me more than once that I don't want their sympathy calls."

My brow furrows.

"I need you to help me call these people back. When we hang up, dial my cell. The voicemail password is 5678." He sounds frustrated.

"Josh?"

"Tell Kevin that he needs to get his ass in gear and fix my remote e-mail. I called him this morning, but it's still not working."

"Josh?"

"You've gotta make sure that the Governor is nowhere near Doris King when he gets to Sacramento. Tell CJ that they shouldn't even be in the same room together. She'll question him about Christian values until she's blue in the face. That goes for Stanwyck too."

"Are you finished?" My voice is harsher than I intended.

"I've got about 20 pages of notes on cancer research that I'll need you to type." For the first time, he takes a deep breath.

"Josh?"

"Yeah?" His voice is low. I can picture him rubbing his eyes.

I don't say anything.

He pauses. "I'm...I'll meet you guys in California. I have to go." He hangs up.

Over the next three days, I speak with Josh a total of four times. Every conversation is about work. If I ask him how he's doing, he changes the subject. 

I overheard a conversation he had with Mandy this morning. She was yelling at him, and I assume that Josh was yelling back. When Mandy hung up, she said to no one in particular, "That's it. That was the last straw. Why did I even waste my time with him?" 

CJ rolled her eyes. I smiled.

Josh hasn't said exactly when he's coming to California, but he knows where we're staying in Sacramento and Los Angeles.

***  
For the first time in days, we're able to have an actual sit-down dinner in Sacramento. The Governor went to the capital today and is having dinner with the California governor. So CJ, Toby, Sam and I are eating at the Marriott restaurant, which isn't half bad.

"We need to look at Russia," Sam says, pouring CJ and himself another glass of wine.

"Right, cause there's no political obstacles there," Toby comments.

"I'm just saying, Saudi Arabia produces about 9.5 million barrels of crude oil a day. Russia produces nearly 9 million," Sam says.

I'm delighting in this conversation as well as my oriental chicken salad.

"Why haven't we looked at Russia before?" CJ asks.

"There was that little disturbance called the Cold War for starters," Toby says.

"It's more of a transportation issue," Sam replies, taking a bite of his steak. "There's no easy way to get the oil to the U.S."

There's a moment of silence. "Any bright ideas?" CJ asks, looking around the table.

"Japan," I say under my breath.

"I'm sorry, Donna. Did you just say 'Japan?'" Toby asks, leaning forward slightly.

All eyes are on me, which makes me incredibly nervous. It's one thing for me to voice my opinion in front of Josh, but I've never been this forward without him nearby.

"Japan has the capital to make it work." I shrug. "They could finance the pipeline, then ship the oil over here."

"What kind of markup would that be?" Toby asks. "We're already up to $35 a barrel dealing with the Saudis."

"It's a great thought, Donna, but our government won't go for it. It would be more economically and politically safe if we were to develop a westward pipeline." Sam draws a map with his finger on the white tablecloth. "It could run to Murmansk at the Barents Sea."

"Russia's going to go with the money," Toby says, scratching his forehead. "I'm sure anything we suggest will be at the end of their list."

"If you ask me, I think they'll just expand their oil transit line to the Baltic Sea." Josh approaches the table.

"Joshua!" CJ yells.

Sam smiles and stands to hug him. Toby grins enough to nearly show his teeth.

I'm speechless. I don't think I could stand if I tried.

Josh has on khaki pants and a light-blue Polo shirt, which is wrinkled and untucked. His hair is going in 10,000 directions. You can keep the tux; I'll take Josh just like this.

He pulls a chair up next to me. "Hi, Donnatella." It's that sweet voice that I love so much.

"Joshua." It's all I can get out without showing my emotions.

"What's everyone eating?" he asks, looking at our plates.

Sam and CJ start trying to feed him their food, but a waiter hears the commotion and offers to bring Josh his own meal.

"When's the last time you ate?" I ask, finally recovering enough to speak an entire sentence.

"I honestly don't remember."

Josh grabs my knee under the table, and I nearly choke on my salad.

"Donna, are you all right?" CJ asks.

"I'm fine. It just went down the wrong pipe," I say. I know I'm blushing, so I try hiding it with my wine glass.

I put my left hand under the table and grab Josh's. He squeezes my hand, but he's looking at Toby. "Where's the Governor?"

"At the capital with Davis," Toby replies.

"How were the services?" CJ asks, changing the subject.

Josh is rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. I'm concentrating so hard on the way he's making me feel that my fork is suspended in mid-air. I might be staring at him too.

"They were nice. A lot of people came," Josh replies.

"We were all thinking about you, buddy," Sam says, touching Josh's arm.

He smiles. "Thank you."

Josh lets go of my hand and begins rubbing the inside of my thigh, just above my knee. I wish I wore a skirt today.

The waiter brings him a burnt hamburger. 

"Josh, that's hardly a recognizable piece of meat. I'd send it back," I say, examining his burger.

"I like it like this." He removes his hand from my leg so he can eat.

I miss his touch already.

We discuss very few details about his father's death. Josh is a private person. He'll tell me when he wants to talk. For now, I let him concentrate on something other than cancer and death. So we talk politics for another hour.

"We're driving to L.A. early tomorrow," CJ says, putting her napkin on the table.

"I'm heading up," Sam says. He looks at Josh. "Welcome back. We missed you."

Josh smiles and shakes Sam's hand.

Toby stands as well. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah," Josh replies.

When they're all gone, Josh looks at me. "How ya doin'?"

"Better," I say.

He puts his hand back on my leg. "I've gotta get a room tonight."

"No, you don't," I say, putting my hand over his. "Stay with me."

He smirks. "I'd like that."

***  
When we get to my room, the door slams, and Josh presses me against it. I'm going to have a bruise on the back of my head. His hands are on my face, moving toward my hair, and his lips are fused against mine.

Until this moment, our kisses had been chaste. Now, Josh's tongue is swirling around my mouth. He's pushing so hard against me that our teeth scrape.

A few seconds later, he pulls back. "I'm sorry, Donna."

"It's ok." He's left me breathless.

"It's not ok." He moves further into the room, running his hands through his hair.

"Josh--"

He sits on the bed with his head in his hands. "It was so hard."

Oh God. Josh is going to break down in front of me. I sit next to him and rub his back, much like I did in that bar in Manchester.

"I buried my father, Donna." He breathes deeply. "My mother buried the man she's loved for 50 years. How do you get over that?"

I kiss his shoulder. "Time. Time, friends and love."

Josh looks at me. He places a hand on my cheek and rubs his thumb over my cheekbone. I move my face to kiss his palm.

"I wanted you to be there," he whispers.

I look at him. "I would've been there, Josh. All you had to do--"

"That's not what I mean." He pauses and holds my hand. "I'm not laying down the guilt, Donna. I just--" He shrugs. "I thought of you the whole time."

I lower my head, but he lifts my chin. "The whole time," he repeats in a whisper.

His eyes are burning into mine. I lean forward very slowly. Our lips meet somewhere in the middle. Our kiss is soft and tender. His lips feel like a warm blanket; like I've been cold for so long, and he's providing the warmth that I need.

We deepen the kiss automatically, and Josh lays me on my back. He explores my mouth for at least 15 minutes, keeping his hands buried in my hair. I don't want this moment to end.

I feel a wet spot on my face, and I'm surprised to see Josh crying. I wipe away his tear with my thumb and kiss the path that it made on his cheek.

I knew the second that Josh looked at me today that we'd make love.

"I want you," I say. It's like someone else is controlling my voice.

He stares at me for a second, then his kiss grows deeper. His right hand goes under my blouse and doesn't stop at my stomach. He feels my breast through my satin bra. It doesn't take long for him to push it up, revealing my right breast. He lifts his lips from my mouth and looks at what he's uncovered.

"Josh?"

"Hmm?"

I can't respond. I touch the side of his face as he slowly lowers his head to my breast. The feeling of his tongue on my nipple sends shivers down my entire body. All of his attention is focused in this one area, which isn't surprising considering the other encounters we've had.

He lifts the other part of my bra, revealing my left breast. I reach back and unhook it. Josh uses both hands to remove the garment. He takes my blouse off while he's at it. I didn't expect him to stare so much.

"Josh?" I cover my breasts.

He removes my hands, then bends down to suck my left breast. He's now nearly straddling me. There's a good chance that I'm going to have an orgasm before he even gets below my waist. 

Josh looks up at me, releasing my nipple in a firm point. "I'll never want like this again."

It's my turn to reach for him. I pull his head down to my lips and devour his mouth. We're both moaning and searching, trying to get deeper.

Josh drags an open hand down my body and grabs my center. Then, he unhooks my button and runs my zipper down. I don't think my hands were steady enough to do that the way he just did. Not even a full second passes before his hand is in my panties. He moves his hand in every direction except where I want it to be. Meanwhile, his lips are roaming across my chest.

I'm having a difficult time breathing. I want to shower Josh with the same affection he's giving me, but I feel paralyzed.

When his finger drags between my folds, I shiver and press against him. 

Josh smiles at me. "Eager?"

"You have no idea."

He kisses me softly, which betrays what he's doing to me below my waist. He's using two fingers to probe me, and my legs open automatically.

"Josh." My head turns to the side, and I explode.

When I'm done, he kisses me on the nose and lays his head next to mine.

It takes me a while to recover from the most powerful orgasm in my life.

While Josh is rubbing my arm, I take the time to pull his shirt over his head and unzip his pants. I can work quickly too. His chest is absolutely perfect. There's no part of this man's body that isn't perfect. I make him lie flat on his back while I explore every inch of him with my hands and mouth.

I find that Josh particularly likes when I suck on his nipples. He pulls my head closer and moans. I don't think he minds when my tongue stretches down below his belly button either.

I've noticed his erection for quite some time, but when I take it in my hands, he shivers.

"Donna." He puts his hand on my cheek.

I take him into my mouth slowly, relishing in the way he feels. I can feel myself getting wet again. It only takes three pumps with my mouth before Josh releases, calling my name.

He's breathing heavily, but that doesn't stop him from showering my face with kisses.

At this point, I know this is it. There is no one else that I'm going to want or need or love quite like this. And the worst part is – this is it. We're going to work together for the next eight years. He's going to be my boss. We're not going to be able to have sex at all. Everything we are to each other will have to be placed on a shelf. That thought makes me weak.

I know Josh senses it too. The look in his eyes tells me exactly what he's thinking. Tonight is our first and last night together.

He takes my hand in his and slowly puts each finger in his mouth. When he's done, he kisses my wrist. He moves up to my elbow, taking his time.

My leg is over his, and I'm rubbing his calf with my foot. I love the way his hairy legs feel against the inside of my foot. I think we're both overwhelmed with the sensations.

"I didn't know this could happen so fast," he says. I know he's not talking about the sex.

"Neither did I." I kiss him.

"This is everything, Donnatella." His eyes are watery.

Josh gets on top of me and tries to remove my thong, but it gets caught on my ankle. I let it hang there. He guides himself to my opening, and I can't control the whimper that escapes my mouth. Even if Josh moves an inch, I think I'll be done.

We stay like this, kissing, for minutes. Then, he starts to move. He looks into my eyes the entire time.

Josh lowers his lips to my cheek and kisses a trail to my mouth. All the while, he's slowly pushing into me. Although we're joined in the most intimate way, I can't get close enough to this man. I put my arms around him and pull his body flush against mine.

"I know you know," he says.

I nod.

Josh squeezes my hand so hard that I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. He brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses each finger. 

Suddenly, he stops moving. My index finger is hanging on his lower lip, but Josh doesn't move. In the stillness, I can only feel his stomach heaving in and out and the strong beat of his heart against my chest.

"Eight years," he whispers.

I wish he hadn't said it. I put my arms around him to hide my expression. When Josh looks at me, I think he knows. He brushes my hair away from my face and kisses me chastely on the lips before moving his lower body again.

It doesn't take long for him to release into me. His orgasm hits so hard that I fall with him. We collapse in each other's arms, neither of us wanting to let go.

"I don't know if I can wait that long, Josh."

He rubs my side and sighs. "Me neither."

As I cradle Josh's head against my chest, he falls fast asleep. I doubt he's had more than 10 hours of sleep over the past three days. 

My eyes are heavy, but I don't know if I'll sleep at all tonight. I can't stop thinking about the lie that I just told Josh. 

I _know_ I can't wait eight years. I don't think he can either. This connection we have is stronger than both of us. Trouble is, it might ruin both of us and everything we've worked for. We'll wake up in the morning and start our platonic lives. 

I'll give it until late March. If the temptation is too strong, I'll leave. 

Josh flinches against my body, and I kiss his forehead.

I hate Wisconsin in March.

THE END

 

Notes: Well, that does it! I'm afraid that many of you will slam me for ending it like this, but I like it. Most importantly, it's following canon. It was such a bizarre experience holding this ending in my hands. I had the characters' futures in my grasp, and it was an empowering feeling. I wish the current writers took such care when messing with our guys. 

 

I'm hiding from sequel requests. Or maybe not. How often are sequels better than the original? Hardly ever. So I'm asking you guys to let this one alone. However, if I come up with something worthy of a sequel, I'll write it. I don't know how likely that is. Regardless, I'd love to hear what you thought of Part VIII and the story in its entirety.

 

Any facts or figures used in this story are real. I obtained most of them from the Los Angeles Times. The educational statistics were in a report by the University of Michigan after the affirmative action case last year.

 

Finally, thank you for reading my story and sending me praise. Without feedback, I can't write, so you guys kept me going.


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